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THE

Science of Ethics

RT. REV. MGR. MICHAEL CRONIN, M.A., D.D., P.P.

Formerly Professor of Ethics and Politics

University College, Dublin

National University of Ireland

VOLUME I
GENERAL ETHICS

THIRD IMPRESSION

/<5<V

DUBLIN

U. H . GILL AND SON. LTD

50 UPPER O'CONNELL STREET
1930

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First Edition 1909

Second ,, Revised and Enlarged ... 1920
Third Impression ... ... ... 1930

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PREFACE

The main purpose of this work on Ethics is to present
to students of Moral Science a full and connected
account of the ethical system of Aristotle and St.
Thomas Aquinas. To this system the author gives
his fullest assent and adherence, an adherence which
is no mere blind acceptance of a tradition, but comes
of a conviction which has grown stronger and clearer
with time and study, that the general principles on
which Aristotle builds furnish a thoroughly sound basis
of moral enquiry, and that his method is such as to
ensure continued development in accordance with the
most rigid requirements of science. For Ethics is
nothing more than a study of natural law, i.e. the
natural needs of man and the means of satisfying
them, and the method emplo3ed by Aristotle is
the direct determination of those needs by an
empirical examination of our human constitution, our
faculties and their essential functions and objects.
Every natural normative science proceeds in this
manner. Physiology determines the needs of the body
by an examination of the organs, their functions and
ends. Medicine supplies the means necessary for
meeting these needs. And not only the determination
of our personal, but of our social necessities also,
depends upon the same method. The 'natural welfare
of the human race is found always in development
within the range of our natural capacities and their
essential objects.

Nor does Aristotle omit the study of what are called
the facts of our moral life, i.e. human beliefs, customs,

iv THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

institutions, and laws, a study which writers of the
historical school are wont to place in opposition to what
they caU the a 'Priori systems of the older theorists.
These facts Aristotle regards as of the highest importance,
because they are an indication of the essential and per-
manent needs of human life as distinct from men's
passing fancies and desires ; and therefore the historical
method is used by Aristotle to supplement what can be
learned by a direct examination of our human con-
stitution. There is no large requirement or principle of
the modern scientific method in the domain of morals
that is not to be found, at least in embryo, in Aristotle.

But, as was suggested before, the science of Ethics
has been enormously developed since Aristotle's day.
This is especially the case in the region of Applied Ethics
where Morals proper is now brought into contact with
innumerable other spheres of enquiry such as Ancient
History, Sociology, Economics, and Political Science.
The Appendices to the chapters in the second volume
dealing with Natural Religion, Marriage, and Socialism,
will give some idea of how this science has grown with
expansion of allied subjects, during the last twenty-five
years.

A large part of the first volume is devoted to the study
of other sj'stems than that of Aristotle. It may be
stated here that there is hardly any system of Ethics
whicli has had to be rejected wholly, the author's critic-
isms being directed only to specific points in the opposed
theories. After all, no sensible or honest writer is going
to sit down and present the world with a theory of life
and human conduct in which there is not some truth,
even tliough there be much error. For that reason the
writer has been most. careful in the exposition of these
different systems to call the reader's attention to the
points where agreement is possible as well as to matters
which he is asked to regard as erroneous. In all this it
has been the author's best endeavour to be just to his
opponents. He hopes that he has not misrepi esented

PREFACE V

their views in an}^ way or stated them inaccurately.
Where possible he has always had recourse to the original
sources in describing systems, or stating the arguments
used in their defence ; and when, through want of space,
it was necessary to omit some of these arguments, he
has invariably omitted just those on which his opponents
appeared to lay least stress in their expositions.

Of modern scholastic writers the author is most in-
debted to Professors Meyer and Cathrein, to Rev. Joseph
Rickaby, Taparelh, Scliiffmi, Castelein, and Rev. Dr.
Walter McDonald, Maynooth College, whose treatises on
Ethics have been of immense help to him in the prepara-
tion of his work. His most grateful thanks are due to
the Rev. Canon Waters, of Clonliffe College, for his
kindness in reading this book and for many valuable
criticisms and suggestions. Canon Waters' wide and
minute acquaintance with the writings of St. Thomas
Aquinas was always at the author's disposal in the task
of discovering and comparing scattered references,
which, without such aid, it would have been difficult
to collate. Thanks are also due to those gentlemen who
so kindly undertook the tedious and uninteresting task
of proof-reading, and to many others also for help given
of various kinds.

It is the present writer's earnest hope that others more
competent than he will take up this work of making
known to the world the secret treasures of a great
philosophy — a philosophy which moderns have too much
and too long neglected. Already, of course, there are
many labourers in the field. But there is room for
many more. It is in the hope of helping a little towards
the accomplishment of this great task that the author
ventures to publish this work on Ethics — not without
consciousness of its many defects. ,

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2009 with funding from

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/ •

CONTENTS

CIL\PTER I

Definition and Scope of Ethics (pp.

1-27)—

PAGE

Definition

Scope .....

Ethics and some other Sciences —

Psychology

Pohtical Philosophy .

Moral Theology

. 13

Method of Ethics —

The various possible methods

. 14

The true method

Possibility of the Science of Ethics

Objections

CHAPTER II ^

Of Human Acts (pp. 28-45)—

Division of human acts 28

Of what makes an act human .

Of voluntariness in particular .

' Kinds of voluntariness

Of indirect voluntariness .

Of what makes an 'act less human

Ignorance ....

Violence .....

Passion

. 42

viii THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

CHAPTER IlK

Of the Ends of Human Action (pp. 46-88) — page

/• Of ends in general 46

The ultimate end 53

2, The objective ultimate end 54

That it can be determined by Reason . . 54
It does not consist in finite external goods . . 56
„ „ bodily health or life . . 57
„ ,, pleasure (sensuous or intel-
lectual) . • • 57
„ ,, a state of the soul, e.g. —

self-realisation . 62
holiness or perfec-
tion . . 66
knowledge . . 67
culture . . 68
„ ,, adjustment to environment 69
It consists in the Infinite Uncreated Good . . 69
The objective final end a reality. . . -7^

3' The subjective final end 79

It consists in an act 79

of intellect .... 79
Consideration of rival theories on this point

(Paulsen) 81

(Simmel) 82

(Schopenhauer) 83

It does not require the exercise of all the faculties 84

The subjective end of man really attainable . 85

CHAPTER IV

Of ' Good ' and ' Evil ' (pp. 89-123)—

Meaning of ' good ' 89

' Good ' is object of appetite . . . . 8()
' Good ' and being are one . . . -91

CONTENTS ix

Of ' Good ' and ' Evil ' — continued

Meaning of ' good ' — continued page

' Good ' is an attribute of reality ... 93
' Good ' is fulness of being . . . -93

Human ' Good ' is fulness of human being . 94
' Good ' or fulness of being of the human act

depends upon the end .... 95

' Good ' is determined by final end ... 97
Of the determinants of Goodness .... 97

Are aU acts good or bad, or are there any indifferent

acts ? . . . . .... 100

That there is a natural distinction of ' good ' and ' evil ' 104
I Consideration of Positivist theories, or of theories
J which deny natural distinctions — Hobbes, Rous-

^ seau, Camcades, Nietzsche, Paulsen, Occam and

Fuffcndorff 114

Theory of extrinsic morality . . . . .120
„ independent morality . . . .122

CHAPTER V

The Moral Criteria (pp. 124-174) —

Meaning of Criterion ...... 124

Division of Criteria ...... 125

Need of a Criterion in Ethics ..... 126

The primary or fundamental Ethical Criterion . , 127

Conditions of ...... . 127

The criterion determined ..... 129

applied 133

Range of application of this criterion . . 135
The secondary or derivative criteria —

General injury with general observance . . 140

(Note on Ethical Optimism)

Common human convictions .... 153

The moral feelings . . . . -155

Some general remarks on the criteria . . . 157
Some difficulties against the system of Natural Morals

considered ....... 160

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

CHAPTER VI

EEDOM AND MORALITY (j^p. I75-I95) —

PAGE

Meaning of freedom .....

175

View of Wiindt . . . . .

179

„ Caldervvood .....

180

„ Hamilton and Kant

180

„ Reid

180

Wundt's view of the Scholastic definition .

180

Ed. von Hartmann's view of freedom

180

Ground of freedom ......

181

Extent of freedom

185

Freedom and the law of Conservation of Energy

187

Consequence of freedom .....

189

Kantian theory of freedom ....

190

Hegelian theory of freedom ....

192

CHAPTER VII

Freedom and Morality (pp. 196-210) —

Necessity of freedom for morality .... 196

for moral distinctions 197

„ obligation ...... 198

for imputability and punisliment . . . 201

Leslie Stephen's view of freedom and punishment 203

Butler's view of freedom and punishment . 204

The practical bearing of this question of the relation

of freedom to morals ...... 206

Kant's theory tiiat freedom and morality are one . 209

CHAPTER VIII

y Of Duty (pp. 211-255)—

The prol)lcm c.vplained .

Pr(K)f of duty . . . .

The ;il)s()lti(c charadcr of (lul\ .

211
214

210

CONTENTS ki

Of Duty — continued page

Some statements of philosophers confirmatory of our
proof of duty (Taparelli, Kickaby, Simmel,

Sidgwick, Ed, von Hartmann, Fouillee) . 222

A difficulty (duty and freedom) . . .' . 224
/ Two Corollaries —

/ Concerning a view of Sidgwick on duty . . 228

the theory of independent duty . 229
Other theories of Duty —

Duty a willing of the totality of ends (Lipps) . 231

I „ disjunctive necessity (Meyer) . . . 234

-Theory of Intuitionism (Butler, &c.) . . . 234

r-Positivist theory ...... 240

Associationist form of (Mill) .... 241

Evolutionist form of (Spencer) . . . 242

Ethics without duty (Guyau) .... 247

Appendix-^Kant's deduction of liberty from duty . 254

CHAPTER IX

On Kantian Formalism (pp. 256-274) —

Explanation of theory as formulated by Kant . . 256

Disproof of theory ....... 257

Argiunents of the formalists discussed . . . 2C6

CHAPTER X

On Hedonism (pp. 275-317) —

Explanation and history of theory of Hedonism. . 275
Aquinas' arguments against the Hedonistic principle

that pleasure is our final end . . . 280—
Arguments of Psychological Hedonists (Mill) . . 289
„ Ethical Hedonists (Sidgsvick) . . 300

Empirical (Mill) and Scientific (Spencer) Hedonism —

their criterion ...... 302

Mill's theory of qualitative distinctions in jiieasurcs

examined ....... 311

xii THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

CHAPTER XI y

Of Utilitarianism (pp. 318-37^) — page

Definition . . . s ' . . . . . 318

Utilitarianism — how far true 319

Disproof of the Utilitarian principle that the well-
being of Society is man's final end . .321

The Utilitarian criterion examined .... 325

Examination of the arguments for Utihtarianism
drawn from the following : —

" The Benevolent Impulses " . . . 331

" Hedonism " . . . . . . . 339

" Moral good as categorical and universal " . 348

" Ccmimon conception of morals " . . . 350

"Pragmatism" 353

" Theory of solidarity of Society " . . . 356
" The moral intuitions " . . . . 365
Appefidix— Theory of Moral Values considered . . 367
„ Hedonism and Utilitarianism, their recon-
ciliation 369

CHAPTER XII

Evolution and Ethics (pp. 372-441) —

Theory of Biological Evolution (Spencer) .

Note on Leslie Stephen's theory
Criticism of Spencer's theory —

Whether the moral law evolves .
Spencer's assumptions examined

„ argument depending on development in

structure and function examined .

Theory that life is man's final end disproved

Spencer's two criteria — viz., " Adjustment to en

vironinent " and " Health " examined .

Theory of Psychological Evolution —

Statement of theory ....

373
383

387
393

408
•III

413
424

CONTENTS xiii

Evolution and Eimcs— continued

Criticism — page

Moral beliefs sho\\n to be derived from reasoning 428
Associations of pleasure and pain not the source

of moral beliefs 430

A special form of this theory depending on

principle of " Natural Selection " examined . 434

Question of origin and validity — how they are related 440

(CHAPTER XIII

Evolution {con.). Ethics of Transcendental Evolu-
tion (pp. 442-471)—

Statement of theory 442

Hegel's form of theory 445

Green's form of theory 448

Criticism of the theory of Transcendental Evolution . 451

Note on Self-realisation ...... 461

Appendix — Spinoza's system ..... 466

Fichte's system 468

CHAPTER XIV

The Moral Faculty (pp. 472-505) —

^he faculty defined 472

ConsicJ^ation of erroneous views : —

Conscience a distinct faculty (Hume) .

„ a feeling (Leslie Stephen, Fichte)
„ a sense (Hutcheson) .
„ the Universal Reason (Hegel)

,, the Voice of God (Butlor) .
*^ Appendix — Of Probabilism ....

CHAPTER XV

475
480
486
491
497
504

Of Intuitionism (pp. 506-536) —

Statement of question 506

XIV

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Of Intuitionism — continued. page

Exposition of author's view ..... 507

Other views examined —

Perceptive Intuitionism (Mansell, McCosh) . .518
Common Sense Intuitionism (Reid) . . . 522
iEsthetic Morals (Schiller, Herbart, Shaftesbury,

Hutcheson) ...... 525

Moral Impulse theory (Martineau) . . . 530

CHAPTER XVI

Of Synderesis (pp. 537-572) —

Statement of doctrine

On the origin of a child's moral beliefs

Can Conscience develop and decay ?

Unethical man ....

Of the moral beliefs of savages .

Of the " homo sapiens ferus " .

Appendix — ^Theories concerning differences in moral

codes of different natidns (Kittel, Elsenlians) .

537
539
547
550
551
568

571

CHAPTER XVII

The Consequences of Morality (pp. 573-592) —

Of Rectitude ^ • 573

Of Imputability 574

Of Merit, Its kinds 574

Its conditions ....... 577

Witli whom can we merit ? . . . . 578

Erroneous views on merit —

Merit implies effort (Leslie Stephen) . . 578
„ attaclics only to works of supereroga-
tion (Leslie Stephen) .... 579

Inverse ratio of merit and virtue (Martineau

and Shaftesbuiy) . . . 580

Theory that virtue implies struggle (Royce) . 581

CONTENTS

X'/

The Consequences of Moraluy— continued page

Of Demerit 5^4

Punishment as retributive .... 586

„ emendatory and deterrent . . 589

CHAEIgRJ^n ^

Of Habits and Virtues (pp. 593-632)-

Of Habits 593

Virtue and Vice in general

. 595

The Intellectual Virtues .

. 596

PiTiduic^,.

. 598

The Moral Virtues .

. 604

The Cardinal Virtues

. 613

Of Temperance

. 616

Of Fortitude .

. 618

Of Justice

. 621

Just;ice a natural virtue

. 625

Hume's objections

. 626

Justice an objective virtue

. 628

Opposed theory of Hume

. 630

.) )>

Sid

gwick

. 630

CHAPTER XIX

Of Law (pp. 633-659)—

General Conception of Law

• 633

Note on Natural Selection and Law

. 635

The Various kinds of Law

• 639

The Eternal Law

. 639

The Natural Law

. 643

Jus gentium

. 648

Human Law .

. 650

Theory of Autonomy —

Autonomy of Reason (Kant)

. 652

Will (Lipps)

• 657

Immanent Heteronomy (Ed.

von Hartmann)

. 658

xvi • THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

On Rights (pp. 660-686) — page

—Notion of Right .... . . 660

Properties of Right —

Inviolability 662

Limitation ....... 662

Coaction 663

Erroneous theories on relation of Right to

Coaction (Ihering, Hegel, Thomasius) . 663

Division of Rights 666

Perfect and Impsrfect Rights . . . 667

That some Rights are natural 669

Objections of Historical School (Neukamp, &c.) . 670

Relation of Right to Morality 673

Erroneous theories on origin and principle of Right —
Theory that all Rights come from the State

(Hobbes, &c.) ...... 676

Theory that all Rights originate in Contract

(Fichte,&c.) 678

Theory of Historical School that all Rights origi-
nate in Custom (Savigny, Neukamp, &c.) . 679
" Mechanical " theory of principle of Right (Kant) 683

APPENDIX
Kant's Criterion of Goodness. The Categorical Imperative 687

THE

SCIENCE OF ETHICS

CHAPTER I
DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS

{a) Definition

Ethics may be defined as " the science of human con-
duct as according with human Reason and as directed
by Reason towards man's final natural end," or, it is
" the science of moral good and evil in human acts."
The former of these two definitions we expound as
follows : — •

(i) Ethics is a science and not merely an art.

An art and a science differ mainly in their object or
purpose. The end of an art is to facilitate action — that
of a science is to discover truth. Now, the end of
Ethics is to discover moral truths — to establish, in the
first place, the general moral principles, and then to
deduce from these the laws which govern human action
in particular cases. Ethics is therefore a science — a
practical science of course, not a theoretic science, since
its end is to direct action.

Besides the science of Ethics there exists also an
art that has to do with the regulation of conduct, and
which is named the art of good conduct. But these
two disciplines are quite distinct. The end of Ethics
is, as we said, to tell us what is good and what is evil
— the art of good conduct tells us how we may do the
Vol. I.— I I

2 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

good and avoid evil with greater ease and security.
For instance, the art of good conduct tells a man when
and in what circumstances he should fly temptations to
evil, and when and how he ought to face temptation ;
also, how a man should set about the acquiring of a
virtue, and how he may best retain it when acquired.
Counsels of this kind may, indeed, sometimes be found
in works on Ethics, but they are not essential to the
science of Ethics, nor are they in strictness included in
its object. Ethics does not aim at telling a man how
! to do good or how to strengthen his will against evil,
but only tells him what is good and what is evil. In
this sense we find it said that Ethics supplies no moral
dynamics — that is, its aim is, at least primarily, not to
purify and strengthen the will, but to inform the Reason
— that is, to enable the Reason to form correct moral
judgments about the right order of conduct.

(2) It is the science of conduct as directed by Reason.

Human Reason bears a two-fold relation to the order

of objects in the Universe. First, there is an order

which human Reason merely considers but does not

make, like the order of the heavenly bodies or the

order exhibited in the growing plant. Secondly, there

is an order which Reason not merely considers, but

also constitutes — an order which Reason sets up in things

like the order of a well-arranged house. Now, the

order which is considered in Ethics is of the second

kind.* The ethical or moral order is an order which

I the human Reason itself introduces into conduct — an

order which belongs to conduct in so far as it is under

the control of Reason.

• This doctrine of St. Thoma.s, that the moral order of the human
act is set up in the act by human Reason, is to be carefully distinguished
from IIk- Kantian theory of th<' autonomy of Keason- Ihc theory,
namely, that the moral law springs from our own Koason. Accord-
ing to St. Thomas, Reason .sets up in the human act the right order,
but, in doing so, it follows laws that spring not from Reason itsell
but from nature. According to Kant, Reason not only directs the
act, but also creates the laws according to which the actshculd be
directed.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 3

This order which Reason sets up in human action is
not an arbitrary order, but depends on certain fixed
and necessary laws, and it is the business of Ethics to /^
formulate these laws, to say when conduct accords with''
them or is good and rational and when it does not ac-
cord with them or is evil and irrational. In this sense
we define Ethics as the science of conduct as directed or
controlled by Reason.

(3) It is the science of " human conduct."

Ethics has to do with conduct or with human actions
only. This implies three things. Jit&t, it has to do
with man only. Animal conduct is subject to certain
laws. The acts of angels are also subject to law. But
Ethics takes cognisance onl}^ of one kind of act and one
kind of law. It has to do with human actions only.
Secondly, when we say that Ethics relates to conduct,
we mean that it has to do with deliberate acts only ,
{actus humani), with acts that proceed from and are
controlled by Reason [qui a voluntate deliberaia proced-
tint) ;* it has nothing to do with indeliberate acts,
which are in no sense from Reason [cicius hominis).
TMrdl}^ the science of Ethics has to do with actions,
not ^ith states or permanent conditions of mind, for
instance,, our character,! except indeed in so far as our
acts affect our character. It is only our actions that
fall directly under our control or are deliberate, and as
we saw, Ethics has to do only with what is deliberate.

* " Sic ergo moralis philosophiae proprium est considerare opera-
tiones humanas secundum quod sunt ordinatae ad invicem et ad finem.
Dico autem operationes humanas quae procedunt a voluntate hominis
secundum ordinem rationis. Nam si quae operationes in homine
inveniuntur quae non subjacent voluntati et rationi, non dicuntur
proprie humariae, sed naturales, sicut patet de operationibus animae
vegetativae, quae nullo modo cadunt sub consideratione moralis
philosophiae. Sicut autem subjectum philosophiae naturalis est
motus vel res mobilis ita subjectum moralis philosophiae est operatio
humana ordinata ad finem vel etiam homo prout est voluntarie agens
propter finem " (Aquinas, " Commentaries on Aristotle," Ethicorum,
Lib. I., Lect. I.).

f According to Hume, Schopenhauer, and most evolutionists,
" character " and not action is the proper subject-matter of Ethics

4 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(4) " As directed to tnan's final natural end."

Other sciences, like Ph3^sics, treat of the efficient
causes of human action. Ethics treats of the final
causes or the ends of conduct. It treats in particular
of the final end and of other ends as leading to the
final end. Ethics tells us what acts will lead us to our
final end or are morally good, and what will lead us
away from it or are bad, that apt being morally good
which is directed by Reason to the final end, its opposite
being morally evil. In Ethics the final end holds the
same place and exercises the same function that the
first principles do in the speculative sciences. For as
reasoning begins with principles so action depends on
and begins with " end." The last end will be the first
ground of action, since it is that which moves to the
attainment of all other intermediate ends.

(&) Scope of the Science of Ethics

In our definition of Ethics we have already im-
plicitly indicated its scope. The scope of Ethics is the
formulation and establishment of the laws of human
conduct — those laws following which conduct tends to
man's ultimate end and is good, violating which conduct
is bad.

Ethics is thus a normative science — it prescribes norms
or rules of action. In this it resembles many other
sciences, like Medicine, which also is normative, since it
prescribes laws of health, laws following which we shall
be healthy, neglecting which we cannot be healthy.

Now, many modern ethicians take quite another
view — a very erroneous view — of the scope and subject-
matter of Ethics. They maintain that the proper
subject-matter of Ethics is not the laws of morals, the
laws to which conduct ought to conform, but what they
call tlu' fads of Ethics — by which thoy moan the moral
cubtouis and beliefs of various peoples in diifercnt ages

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 5

and under different conditions, the scope of Ethics
being, according to these ethicians, to describe and
correlate these facts (without reference to their being
right or wrong) — to give their origin and the law of their
development.

The difference between what moderns call laws and
facts can best be illustrated from architecture. We
assign the laws of architecture when we say how build-
ings oiight to be constructed. The facts of architecture
would be the history of men's views on architecture or
an account of the fashions that have prevailed in archi-
tecture at different periods and in different places. But
whereas we do not find that any architect has ever
described his science as a history of men's views on, or
of fashions in architecture (this he would call the history
not the science of architecture), we do, as we have said,
find ethicians who claim that the business of moral
science is merely to explain and correlate men's views
on morals * and the customs to which these views have
given rise.

We are indebted to Professor Sorley for an interest-
ing account and a valuable criticism of this theory,
from which we may be permitted to quote the following :
" The enquiries," he writes,t " commonly described as
ethical comprise two kinds of questions which differ
fundamentall}^ from one another in scope, and require
the employment of distinct methods for their solution.
On the one hand, there are the fads of human conduct,
the customs and institutions to which it gives rise and
the sentiments and ideas by which it is accompanied.
All these are facts in time whose genesis and history
may be investigated by appropriate historical methods.
On the other hand, there is a question of different scope
which no amount of history could solve. This is the

* Amongst the most prominent members of this School is M.
Levy-Bruhl. His views are to be foimd in a remarkable work,
entitled " La Morale et La Science des Mocurs."

f " Ethics of Naturalism," page 310.

6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

question of the value or worth of conduct and the truth
of the judgments which men pass upon it. The ques-
tion is no longer how the action came to be performed
or the judgments passed upon it arose, but whether the
action was right and whether our moral judgments are
true judgments."

And again * — " It is an irrelevant answer to the ques-
tion, ' what is the good,' when we are given a mere
record of men's ideas about what is good and of the
way in which these opinions arose. We ask about the
validity of moral judgments, and are put off by specu-
lations concerning their history. The strictly ethical
question is thus disregarded."

According, then, to Professor Sorley the strictly
ethical question is not what men have thought about
the laws of conduct or how our moral ideals have
originated, but " wiiat are the laws of right conduct —
what should conduct be .-^ " This, of course, is also the
view taken by Aristotle and by St. Thomas Aquinas.

The view taken by our opponents on this point — for
instance, by M. Levy-Bruhl — is, we maintain, opposed
to the whole conception of the scope and subject-matter
of a science. As well might we confine the science of
Physics to the description and correlation of the various
views of physicists at different periods as to say that
the exclusive purpose of Ethics is to describe the history
of men's views on good and evil, and the practices to
which these views have given rise. Of course, if it
could be shown that conduct has no laws, that it is all
the same to a man whether he is drunk or sober, honest
or dishonest, that the supposition of laws for conduct
is purely a figment of our imaginations, then certainly
we should admit that the study of morals could mean
no more than the study of opinions on matters of con-
duct. But, apart altogether from the scientific proof of
morality wliich we hope to give in the present work, it
should be evident even from common sense that human

* " EthicK (A NuluruliHiii," patiP ^20.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 7

conduct is not without its laws. We have only to open
our eyes and see what men come to through intem-
perance, and to consider what society would come to
were there, for instance, no such thing as marriage con-
tracts, in order to know that human conduct is subject
to laws of some kind, that it has requirements just as a
tree has requirements, that it is not the same to a man
and society whether we follow one set of courses or the
opposite set — in other words, whether we do good or
evil. At present we do not say what is the nature of
the laws of conduct, what the "good " is and what
evil is, or to what end the laws of conduct should guide
us. We only insist that there are courses that are
necessary for us and courses that are ruinous, and
therefore that human conduct is really subject to laws
of some kind. That being the case, it is evident that
the science of Ethics, which is the science of human
conduct, deals not with the growth of ethical views and
customs, but with the laws of conduct, just as Physics
deals not only with opinions about the phenomena of
nature, but with the objective phenomena themselves.
The purpose of Physics is the establishment of the laws
of physical nature. The purpose or scope of Ethics is
the establishment of the laws of human conduct. The^
correlation or history of the views and customs of
different peoples at different periods may, indeed, be
interesting on its own account, and we might even find
a place for such questions in Ethics, as leading indirectly
to a right view of the good and evil of certain acts.
But these views and customs are no part of the direct
object of Ethics.

Having defined absolutely the science of Ethics, we
turn now to define it relatively — in other words, to
determine its boundaries and to show where it differs
from the other sciences, or at least from those that are
more or less closely connected with it.

8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

ETHICS AND PSYCHOLOGY

We shall draw out the distinction between these two
sciences step by step. In the first place, Ethics has a
narrower object than Psychology, for Psychology treats
of every act of man, whereas Ethics treats of deliberate
acts only. Second^, even deliberate human actions
are considered very differently by the psychologist and
the ethician. For whereas Ps3xhology treats of these
actions in every aspect — as regards their origin, the
conditions of their existence, their relations to one
another, and their relations to the various faculties
and to the natural ends of the faculties — Ethics treats
of them in this latter way onlj-, that is, in their relation
to natural ends. Hence, whilst the psychologist is like
the geographer, who tells us everything about a road —
its length, its position in respect to other roads, &;c. —
the ethician is like the traveller who is interested in one
question only — namely, whether a particular road leads
to the town he is seeking, and how.

So far, however. Psychology is but the wider science
and not specifically distinct from Ethics. Some ethi-
cians have stopped here, and been content to draw
this mere quantitative distinction between the two
sciences. They sometimes formulate it thus — whereas
Psychology treats of the origin and nature and ends of
our acts. Ethics treats of their end only, and, therefore,
of their goodness or badness. But it is evident that if
Ethics is not to be accounted a chapter of Psychology
it must differ from that science qualitatively as well as
quantitatively — that is, it must concern the human act
under a separate aspect, an aspect which the psycholo-
gist does not consider.

The existence of a qualitative distinction between
Ethics and Psychology is clearly shown by St. Thomas
Aquinas in his " Commentaries on Aristotle." *
"Order," he writes, "bears a fourfold relation to
Reason. There is first, the order which Reason does

• I.ilier primus FJhicorum. Lectio I,

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS g

not establish, but merely considers * {quern ratio non
jacit sed solum considcrat), as is the case with natural
things {i.e., physical nature). There is also an order
which Reason itself by considering sets up (or estab-
lishes) in its own act — for instance, the proper order-
ing of the concepts to one another. ... A third ' order '
is that which Reason sets up in the operations of the
will. A fourth is that which Reason sets up or estab-
lishes in external things in so far as they are made by
Reason. (Now) . . , these different kinds of order give
rise to different sciences. Natural Philosophy, includ-
ing Metaphysics (under Natural Philosophy St. Thomas
Aquinas also includes Psychology), regards that order
which Reason discovers but does not itself establish.
Rational Philosophy {i.e., Logic) regards the order
which Reason itself sets up in its own act, for Logic
regards the order of terms in a judgment and of pre-
misses to conclusions. Moral Philosoph}'^ has to do
with the order of our voluntary actions (an order which
Reason sets up or establishes in the human will).
Finally, there is the order of the mechanical arts, an
order which Reason sets up in external objects in so
far as external objects are subject to or constituted by
Reason." j

We see, then, that the order which is contemplated
in Ethics is not one (to use a modern expression) which
is given to Reason, but rather an order which Reason
itself sets up in the acts of the will. Its specific object
is "an order in human acts to be established by Reason."
In Psychology, on the other hand. Reason merely plays
the part of knower. It tells us what are the objects of
the faculties, what are the relations between the faculties
and the soul, &c. In other words, whereas Psychology
treats of what is. Ethics treats of an " order " in our
acts which perhaps is not, but which, if conduct is to be
rational, ought to be, and which can only be set up in

* The distinction has already been mentioned, page 2.
f See note, page 2.

10 , THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the will by Reason itself. Pyscholog3% then, like Mathe-
matics and Physics, treats of mere facts or actual
happenings of mind. Ethics is, like Logic and certain
of the arts, normative. It lays down rules of action.
And even amongst normative sciences it has a specific
difference of its own — namely, that the order which it
contemplates is an order of acts not to any proximate
or intermediate end, but to the final end of our whole
being — the summum bonum.

But though Ethics is a distinct science from Psycho-
logy, it is yet in many points dependent on Psychology.
For, first, it is from Psychology that we learn the
freedom of the will or the fact that Reason is able to
control our actions. Again, it is from Psychology we
learn what are the ends and objects of the various
faculties, and it is through the information thus ob-
tained that Reason is enabled to set up in our wills the
necessary ethical order, the order of act to final end.
In this way, just as the traveller gets his information
from the geographer, so does the ethician from the
psychologist. But still Ethics is not to be identified
with Psychology, nor with any chapter in Psychology.
It is a distinct science, since the aspect under which
conduct is related to our human Reason is different in
the two sciences.

ETHICS AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY

We meet in recent ethical literature with two remark-
able and quite opposed accounts of the relation in which
Ethics stands to Politics. One tends to separate the
two sciences altogether ; the other tends to make Ethics
a part of Political Science. The first view is advo-
cated by Kant and his many disciples. The second
by the modern utilitarians. In the first view, whereas
Moral Philosophy concerns itself with the individual
conscience and with the inner act as subject to con-
science, Political Philosophy concerns itself with the

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS ii

laws and interests of the State and with external acts.
In the second view, morality is regarded as identical
with the good of the race, and the science of Ethics as
identical with the science of the racial interest in so
far at least as the racial interest can be promoted by
individual effort, and gives rise to individual responsi-
bility. Ethics is thus, in the utilitarian system, identi-
fied with Politics regarded as the science of the social
good, whereas in the first or Kantian system the two
sciences stand completely apart.

Now, the view taken in the present work is that
Ethics is neither distinct from Political Philosophy nor
identical with it ; that, on the contrary, Political
Philosophy is merely a branch of Ethics, that as Ethics
considers the actions of men in regard to our last end,
both in our character as individuals and as members
of society. Political Philosophy considers the acts of
men as citizens or as members of society only, and
directs the lawgiver as to the best way to rule the
citizens so as to obtain the ends of society.

On this question of the relation of Ethics to Political
Philosophy, it may be well to quote the argument of
St. Thomas. Having determined the general subject-
matter of Ethics— that is, human operations as directed
by Reason to the last end — he writes : — " It should,
however, be mentioned that man is a social animal
inasmuch as many things are necessary for his life
which he himself as an individual could not procure :
from which it follows that according to the design of
nature man is to be considered a member of a multitude
which is (nature's) means for affording him the neces-
sary help in the proper ordering of his life. This neces-
sary help extends to two classes of requirements. First,
it extends to things necessary for life, without which
the present life could not continue ; and in this respect
man is a member of the domestic multitude (or of the
family), since it is from our parents that we receive
life, support, and education. . . . Secondly, as members

12 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of another multitude we receive those things that are
required for complete sufficiency of hfe, things necessary
not for Hfe, but for the perfect hfe, and on this account
man is a member of the multitude of civil society, and
that, not merely in regard to " (such things as) " bodily
necessities which only a number of artificers living
together can fully supply, but also in regard to the
moral necessities like that of public punishment, whereby
youths are coerced into good behaviour when they
cease to give heed to mere paternal admonition. . . .
Hence moral philosophy is divided into three parts.
The first regards the acts of a man in his individual or
personal relation to the final end — which is ' Monastica '
(or personal Ethics). The second considers the actions
of the family — which is ' Oeconomica.' The third con-
siders the political organisation and its action — which
is ' Politica.' " *

There is, however, one difficulty in the way of regard-
ing Political Philosophy as a branch of Ethics — namely,
that Political Philosophy considers many questions
which apparently have nothing to do with the moral
good or with duty — for instance, the question of the
best form of " electoral system " or the best methods of
taxation. Our view of these questions is that, though
they are not concerned directly with what is of strict
moral obligation, they are concerned remotely and
indirectly with what is of obligation, because they are
concerned with the means whereby ends which arc of
strict moral obligation are to be attained. For instance,
it is of strict moral obligation that government should
exist and tliat the State should be maintained. But
there are many possible forms of government and many
systems of maintenance. The form of government may

• " Commentaries on Aristotle." Liber primus Ethicorutn, Lectio I
We may note that Aristotle in one place speaks of Ethics as a sort of
Politics (iroKiTinr) T(t), and speaks of Politics as li\e siiiiicnir science
(Nich. Kth. I. 2). His meaninK, however, evidently is that Politics
\H the hinhest part of Ethics, and it is usual to denominate any .science
fniiii uliat i» highest in it.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 13

be monarchical or representative, and the system of
maintenance may be that of direct taxation or of in-
direct. In other words the means to the end are many.
The moral law is indifferent what form or system
is adopted, but it is of obligation to choose some one
form or system, just as the laws of health are indifferent
as to what kind of food one eats (provided it is whole-
some) but requires that one eats some kind. Now in all
its departments Political Philosophy is concerned either
with the ends of the State or with the means by which
these ends are reached. And since the ends of the
State are obligatory and ethical, the means also which
this science considers are obligatory and ethical.

Political Philosophy therefore is Ethical in character,
not only in regard to the fundamental problems like
the necessity and function of government, but also in
regard to the derived problems like those others which
we have mentioned.

ETHICS AND MORAL THEOLOGY

Ethics treats of the moral law from the standpoint of
natural Reason alone — Moral Theology from the point
of view of revelation. The relation of Ethics to revealed
Theology is very clearly drawn by the scholastic writers.
Ethics is a natural science in the sense of a science con-
ducted by our natural Reason, and therefore the ethi-
cian does not in the construction of his science use the
Revealed Word as a proof of ethical truth or as a pre-
miss from which to draw ethical conclusions. Revealed
morality stands to Ethics in the same relation exactly
that the biblical account of the origin of the material
world stands to the natural science of Geology. In
other words, no proposition can be regarded as a genuine
conclusion of the science of Ethics unless it can be
established on giounds of natural Reason alone without
revelation. If revelation is necessary in order to estab-
lish a particular proposition this proposition is a con-

14 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

cliuion of Moral Theology, not of Ethics. There are a
great number even of moral truths that can be estab-
lished only through revelation — truths that unaided
natural Reason could not possibly discover. These
truths are not ethical truths, and are not the premisses
of ethical conclusions, nor are they used as such by
the scholastic writers. Ethics and Geology are natural
sciences, Theology is a revealed science. The stand-
points, or what are called the formal objects of the
natural and the revealed sciences, are not indeed op-
posed, but they are distinct. The science of the re-
vealed moral law is Moral Theology. Ethics is the
science of natural morals only, and its standpoint is
that of natural Reason.

(d) Method of Ethics

The methods * employed by various ethicians in the
development of this science may be conveniently re-

* By " method " here we mean, not a system of Ethics, but the
method of study adopted in discovering moral truths. It is perfectly
possible that two men following the same method (for instance the
inductive) should arrive at very different ethical systems. The
reader will easily understand that it would be no easy matter to classify
all the methods adopted by ethicians, or even to know in every case
the precise method adopted by individual ethicians. Many ethicians
adopt a plurality of methods, which is, indeed, quite logical and often
necessary. But many who lay claim to using a single method arc
often so vague in their account of it, that it becomes impossible at
times to know under what heading to classify it. Thus it is ex-
ceedingly difficult to know how far many " moral sense " ethicians
acknowledge intellect, or whether they regard the testimony of the
moral sense as given by inner reflection or by outward perception
Thus they speak of the moral sense as a " sentiment of judgment,"
which would suggest .some kind of intellectual faculty. Yet such
prominence is given to " feeling " in these theories that the moral
faculty would seem to be regarded as predominantly sensuous. In the
main we say that the moral-sense writers regard conscience not as an
intellectual but as a sensuous faculty with higlier .sentiments attached.
Agam, the moral sense is sometimes represented as extra-regarding, in
so far as by it wc become aware of the moral qualities of other men's
act*, and Bometimcs as reflective or intra-regarding, in so far as it is
a reflective liking for certain affections in our.selves.

Again, with the exception of a few, intuitionists generally fight
»hy of the question whether our moral intuitions concern thtr general
moral fjrinciples only, or whether they extend to particular acts.
They speak generally of intuitions (not of moral principle, and not of
individual act but) of morality simply

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 15

duced to three. First, methods are either intuitive *
or inferential — that is, moral truths are either repre-
sented as known directly and immediately without
reasoning, or they are represented as knowable through
reasoning alone. Secondly, the inferential method is
either one of induction or of deduction — that is, the
ethician either starts from experience and builds up the
general moral proposition from particular truths, or he
represents particular moral truths as deducible from
the more general self-evident moral principles. Speak-
ing broadly then, the methods recognised by different
ethicians are the intuitive, the inductive or a posteriori,
and the deductive or a -priori.

The intuitive method represents moral truths as know-
able immediately by direct perception. Now, in general,
there are possible two modes of intuition — intuition by
sense and intuition by intellect. Accordingly, intui-
tional moralists may be divided broadly into two classes
— those who attribute the knowledge of moral truths
to a sense which they call the moral sense, f and those
who attribute it to intellect. To the former class belong
Reid,J Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, to the latter, the
Intellectual moralists Cudworth and Clarke. Again,
the " moral sense " theory is a theory either of an

* Speaking strictly, " intuition " is not a method. Common usage
and convenience, however, are our justification for speaking of it as
a method.

t So far as method is concerned, the moral sense theory may be
classed as one with the theory of moral feeling, with, e.g., Adam
Smith's theory of " Conscience — a feeling of sympathy," and Brown's
theorv of " Conscience — a feeling of approvableness."

{ ^jidgwick distinguishes two intuitional methods, (i) The strict
a priori method, in which a man's duty is clearly stated on general
principles, and no room is left for individual tastes or freedom. (2)
The aesthetic intuitional method which allows for individual tastes,
puts virtue above strict duty, and allows for its not being always
realisable at will. The moral code resulting from this latter method
is necessarily very indefinite. We need not say that in the following
treatise we shall take no notice whatever of aesthetic intuitionism in
Sidgwick's sense. Of .(Esthetic Ethics, in another sense, we shall
have something to say, but ajsthetic intuitionism in Sidgwick's sense
is not a science, and it is therefore disproved by everything we can
bring forward in favour of the scientific method.

i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

" inner " sense or of an " outer." An " inner " sense,
it is claimed, discovers the moral law within a man
himself by introspection. In this way Hume may be
regarded as a sense intuitionist. The moral sense as
" outer " is represented as sensible to the morality of
other men's acts as weU as of our own, and as such its
action is said to be akin to that of our other ordinary
outer senses.

It is not so easy to mark off the various methods of
" intellectual " Intuitionism. In one way even the de-
fenders of the inferential method are all, to some extent,
intellectual intuitionists, for they insist that the process
of reasoning must begin with intuition of some kind,
that we cannot reason back m infinitum. Indeed, every
moralist recognises the need of intuition at some stage
or other in the determination of moral truths. But
between the inferential theory and the theory of the
" intellectual intuitionists " we may at least draw a dis-
tinction of degree, as regards the number of intuitions
they each admit. Intuitional moralists as a rule regard
aU the general moral principles, or at least those simpler
truths which all civilised men know of, like " justice is
to be done," " drunkenness to be avoided," " the truth
to be told," " superiors are to be obeyed," as judgments
of intuition. Those who follow the inferential method
insist that the great body of these same moral principles,
including many principles which are generally accepted
by civilised men, need to be proved ; but they admit
that we must fall back somewhere in our reasoning on
self-evident truths. This second class of writers are
not usually described as intuitionists, and in this work
we shall speak of Intellectual Intuitionism in the lirst
sense only. We shall not at present discuss the in-
tuitional method. Our view of intuition and of the
other methods will be given in a special chapter on
intuitioniHui and other chapters dealing with different
moral theories.

The a posteriori or inductive method may be defined

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 17

in a general way as that method which bases the general
principles of moral science, if not exclusively, at least
mainly on experience. The form of the method varies
with the different schools of ethicians employing it.
Thus hedonists and utilitarians use it to determine the
moral principles by a calculus of the pleasurable and
painful consequences of action, pleasure and pain being
evidently matters of experience. The historical school
of moralists employ this method (in their hands it is
known as the historical method) to investigate the
customs and beliefs of different peoples at different
periods of the world's history. According to these
moralists there are no natural, permanent, or necessary
moral principles. Our moral beliefs cannot even be
divided into true and false.* At different ages different
customs arose under the influence of environment,
physical and social. These customs came gradually
to be viewed as necessary, obligatory, and right, and
their opposites as wrong, and the essential business of
the Ethician is to tabulate these various beliefs and
customs, to discover their causes, and if possible to
lay down a formula which will explain their develop-
ment.

These various forms of the inductive method it would
be impossible for us to criticise at this point in our
work. Their consideration and refutation will be much
more easily undertaken when we come to examine the
moral systems of which they form a part, e.g., the
hedonistic and evolutionist systems, to which therefore
we refer our reader.

However, there is one form of the inductive method
to which we should like to make some critical reference
here, a form of it to which, we may say at once, we
shall rigorously refuse a place in this science — namely,
the method of " induction through moral instances," or
the establishment of general moral truths through
particular cases of the general truth. An example of

* One noted exponent of this theory is M. Levy-Bruhl.
Vol. I — 2

i8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

this method would be the establishment of the general
proposition " all lies are bad " by finding that this,
that, and the other lie were bad, or that " murder is
bad " because the murder of this, that, and the other
man was bad. This method, as we have said, cannot
be admitted into Ethics, We do not know that the
lie in general is bad on the ground that many particular
lies are bad. On the contrar}-, we can only know that
a particular lie is bad through knowing that the lie of
its nature, and therefore of itself and in general, is bad.
Induction through instances has an undoubted value in
the physical sciences, for the physical sciences are con-
cerned solely with objects and qualities that fall under
the senses. We see, for instance, with our e3'es that
this and that piece of gold are yellow, and thus we can
argue from many single instances to the general pro-
position that " gold is yellow." But such a form of
argument is quite inapplicable in morals. For, indi-
vidual lies are not labelled " good " or " bad." We
have to discover their moral quality by the use of
reasoning, and in establishing their moral quality we
argue on the strength of premisses that are quite of
general application.*

The a priori method. — The deductive or a priori

* Some have adopted the a posteriori method as cqui-primary with
the deductive, and as the exclusive method of certain branches of
Ethics. Thus John Grote, in his work, " A Treatise on the Moral
Ideals," divides Ethics into two parts — " Aretaics " and " Eudae-
monics." The method of the second part is a posteriori.

A method akin to that of induction, and sometimes adopted in
Ethics — e.g., by Sigwart — is that which some writers call the reductive
method, correspomling in great measure to what Mill calls induction
by parity of reason. It is the case of a law revealed fully and neces-
sarily in one particular instance. Thus, the fifth proposition of the
first book of Euclid is not only exemplified but proved from any
isosceles triangle which one may draw.

To this metliod all that we have said about induction by instances
may be applied without excepli(m. Even Sigwart implicitly admits
its impossible character when he says — " Ethics can only come down
from above • it cannot be built up from below " — that is, the general
moral truth.s can Ik* established from general principles only, and not
from particular empirical facts. The expression " reductive method "
huanother meaning also — namely, the establishing of the jiremisses of
&n argument given the concluHion that has come from them.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 19

method is that which deduces all moral truths from
certain broad general principles that have either the
force of analytic * judgments themselves or may b^
reduced to judgments that are analytic. As there are
schools of Ethics that adopt the a posteriori method
only, so there are ethical schools that adopt the a
priori method exclusively, and make no appeal, or at
least aim at making no appeal, whatsoever to experience
in the building up of their science.

The following are instances of the a priori ethical
method : — (a) The geometric method of Spinoza, in
which proposition is drawn from proposition exactly as
in Euclid, without any appeal to experience, or any
admixture of probable reasoning — the last conclusions
being, it is contended, quite as certain as the axioms
from which they are drawn, whatever be the number of
intervening propositions ; (6) the transcendental or ab-
stract a priori method, in which all moral truths are
deduced from some one original speculative truth, such
as " I find myself willing" (Fichte), or "I am free"
((Hegel), which one proposition, it is contended in each
<case, is just the abstract expression of the whole moral
order, the manifold laws of which are derived from the
first principle by pure a priori reason alone : j (c) the
Ideal a priori method of Plato in the " Republic," and
of More in his " Utopia," in which conduct is regulated
not by what is good and obligatory for real men, but by
an abstract ideal of what is best or might be best for us
under conditions that are superhuman.

What value attaches to a priori reasoning in Ethics
will be seen in the following section, which will contain
our view on the function both of deduction and of in-
duction in the science of Ethics.

* By an analytic judgment is meant a judgment of which the
predicate is a part of the meaning of the subject.

t Hegel recognises the a priori method as primary and fundamental.
But he is finally led to the adoption of the historic method as the
practical and proximate method of Ethics

20 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

THE TRUE METHOD OF ETHICS

As the present work proceeds and the moral laws and
their many applications come before us for consideration,
it ought to become plain to the reader that the method
of Ethics is a mixed one, that it is partly a priori or
deductive, and partly empirical. Ethics is primarily
and in the main a deductive science — that is, it is
science in which the morality of particular acts is
deduced from general moral propositions. For Ethics
is a practical science, and, therefore, its aim is to direct
men aright in the concrete circumstances of real life.
Hence the primary and essential method of Ethics will
be that by which our Reason determines the individual
duty in individual circumstances. We know, however,
from experience that in order to do this, it is neces-
sary to bring together certain general moral principles
such as will suit the circumstances of the act in question,
and from a consideration cf those principles we are able
to determine deductively the individual duty. Hence
the method of Ethics is primarily and in the main de-
ductive.

But it is in the establishment of the general principles
themselves that Reason has to fall back to a large extent
on experience. There are indeed a number of prin-
ciples that are known to us intuitively, so evidently
are certain actions requirements of our natural con-
stitution, and others violations of it. In other cases
agreement or disagreement with our human nature can
only be recognised by the aid of investigation and
reasoning. But whether the natural requirements are
known intuitively or not, it is certain that the deter-
mination of morality involves in every case the study
of our natural constitution, and this can only become
known to us through experience.*

• Wc refrain from calliriR this oxporimrntal t;utor in l-lthics "in-
ductive," becanw of the nicaninf,' usually attachinji; to " induction "
an reasoning built on instances in the way wc liavc ilcscribed. To say
that there is in Ethics an clement of experience expresses our whole
meaning here.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 21

We should mention, however, that this experimental
factor which plays so important a part in the deter-
mination of the general moral principles is no bar to
the certitude required of the science of Ethics. For the
experience that we presuppose in Ethics is no narrow
experience, but one so broad and universal that there
can be no error nor risk of error in following it. The
method, therefore, of Ethics is in the main deductive.
But it presupposes experience, for in the establishment
of its general principles it must rely upon experience.*

(e) Possibility of the Science of Ethics

Is a science of Ethics really possible ? A full dis-
cussion of this question would anticipate what we hope
to prove regarding the reality of the distinction between
moral good and evil, and the validity of the first prin-
ciples of Ethics. But the question may be partly
answered here by meeting the more important of the
arguments that have been advanced against the possi-
bility of a Moral Science.

(i) It has been said that if there is a science of Ethics
at all it must be a science of the most inexact type,
so inexact as scarcely to merit the title of science.
Opinions, it is contended, are so varied on moral matters
that no certain convictions can be entertained about
them. Savages, for instance, have only the rudest
morality. Their highest code of morals is immorality
to civilised men. Nor can it be argued that a savage's
opinions are only savage, and are consequently negligible.
Valueless as his opinions may be on purely speculative
scientific questions, like astronomy or electricity, they
certainly, it is insisted, have a value all their own on
matters that concern human life and existence. We

* The reader must not complain that we give no convincing proof
here that the method of Ethics is such as we have described. At this
stage of our work it would be irrational to expect us to prove these
things. The requirements of Ethics in regard to method can only
appear when we come to treat of particular moral problems.

22 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

■\
have not, therefore, in morals a sufficient consensus of

opinion to constitute a genuine science of Ethics.

Reply — It is untrue to sa}^ that Ethics is either not a
genuine science or is an uncertain science. Ethics, in
the first place, possesses all the elements that are re-
quired for a genuine science — namely, indisputable
principles and a definite method ; and it is certain
because the conclusions to which it leads us are certain.
This, of course, we can only make clear to the reader
as we proceed. We admit, indeed, that there are
problems in Ethics, not of a primary character and re-
mote from our first principles, which cannot be solved
with certainty. Also, the practical application of the
complex rules about circumstances, &c., is not in many
cases without difficulty. But yet we shall be able to
show that a very large number of our moral conclusions
are certain — a number quite large enough to cover all
the important duties of a man's life.

The argument drawn from the difference in existing
codes, between that of the savages and that of civilised
men, is, we maintain, no disproof of the validity of our
science, just as differences of view on the physical world
are no disproof of the validity or reality of Physical
Science. We admit, however, that it would be a serious
thing for our Moral Science if men did not agree on at
least the first principles of Ethics, for these principles
are represented by us as intuitions, and it is supposed
that all minds agree about intuitions. But there can
be no doubt whatsoever, as we shall see later on in this
volume, that savages and civilised men are quite in
agreement about the first principles of morals,* and that
all differences between our codes fall under one or other
of the following heads, none of which have reference

• Profcs.Hor Wundt, though an ardent evolutionist, writes (" Etliik,"
Engl, transl., pa^c 40) — " No unpicjiuliccd observer can avoid the
conviction that in the last resort tin: dilU'rcnccs here (that is, on points
of practical morals), are no (greater than in the intellectual realm,
where, in spite of all the multiplicity of views and schools, the universal
validity of the laws of thought remains unquestioned,"

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 23

to primary Ethical principles — {a) remote and difficult
ethical conclusions which only the developed Reason
can successfully determine ; (&) the secondary laws of
morality — that is, laws that appertain, not to absolute
moral necessities, but to the higher necessities or the
necessities of the more perfect human existence ; (c)
positive laws that are above nature.

For instance, (a) it is not to be expected that savages
will have right and proper views of the details of justice,
since " justice " cases require reasoning — reasoning of
which even civilised men are often quite incapable ;
(6) savages practise polygamy, civilised men as a rule
do not. But then this difference appertains, not to
the strictly necessary or primary laws of natural Ethics,
but to the secondary laws — the laws of greater human
perfection. Now, of these secondary laws the savage
has either no care (for he does not desire the greater
human perfection) or no knowledge (since what is
necessary for the greater perfection is never so obvious
as that which is required for existence or life itself) :
but the primary laws are fully known to him, as will
be proved ; (c) differences sometimes concern mere
positive laws which are above nature, and which savages
know nothing about. For instance, we have the law of
Christian charity. But such differences of moral idea
are not ethical, since Ethics is the study of natural
morals, and hence these differences are outside the
question which we are discussing.

(2) Secondly — It is contended that many weighty
authorities have not regarded this science as demons
strative — e.g., Aristotle.*

Reply — We can only answer briefly that Aristotle
merely meant to indicate that Ethics could not give us
certainty in every case, and that the science has its
difficulties like other genuine sciences that in part de-
pend on experience.

(3) Again, it is objected that " the philosophical

* Nich. Eth., I. 3, 4.

24 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

explanation of morality always lags behind the fullness
of real life " * — that the principles of a science of Ethics
must be purel}^ general, whereas the object of Ethics —
viz., human life — is concrete and real. You cannot, it
is contended, frame a bod}^ of laws which will reach
into all the crevices of a man's life or regulate all his
motives.

Reply — On the question of the relation between
general law and individual fact we shall speak at some
length later, f Here we may say that, in regard to this
relation, Ethics stands on exactly the same footing ag
Mathematics and Physics. Let us confine our com-
parison to the case of Ethics and the Physical sciences.
The function and aim of the Physcial sciences is the
discovery of general laws of nature and the deduction
of facts from general laws. Yet the general laws of
Physics do not of themselves account for the individual
facts, but have to be supplemented by considerations of
the circumstances in which these facts exist and under
which they are produced. Thus, from the general laws
of Dj^namics no man could deduce the actual course of
a falling body because so much depends on the sur-
rounding circumstances. So also in Ethics the general
moral laws could not of themselves meet all the require-
ments of the individual life. But, given a full state-
ment of the circumstances and given the general laws,
the ethician will determine our individual duty, if not
in every case, at least in every important case.

(4) Any genuine science, it is argued, should fulfil two
important conditions — it should verify and it should
predict. Now Ethics cannot predict, i.e., cannot pre-
dict what will happen, because it is solely concerned
with what ought to be ; and, secondly, its laws cannot
be verified, because, since they concern what ou\;ht to
be, they might still be true and valid even though they
were at variance with the facts, that is, with actual

• BusBcl in " Personal Idealism," page 345.
t page 98.

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 25

conduct. If, therefore, Ethics is a science, it is a science
in a very imperfect sense only.

Reply — This difficulty we shall dispose of in very few
words. Since Ethics proposes to tell, not what one
will do but what one ought to do, prediction is not a
function of Ethics. But prediction is not required for
a genuine science. Mathematics, e.g., is incapable of
predicting in the strict sense of the word. It cannot
tell us where a body will fall, but only what it would
do if allowed to fall freely. Mathematics is a study of
laws not of facts. It is so also with Ethics. Ethics is
a study of the laws of right conduct. It is no part of
its business to tell us what will happen, but only what
ought to happen if men are to act morally.

Neither is verification a necessary requirement of
science. The conclusions of Trigonometry, for instance,
are never strictly verified by fact. Nor does Trigono-
metry require verification in this sense. It is essentially
like Ethics a study of laws not of facte.

(5) Again, we have Mr. Balfour's objection that
ethicians simply falsify their ethical conclusions for the
sake of coming into line with the code of morals that
obtains de facto in the world,* since, while they disagree
concerning their moral principkiS, they agree about the
code of morals which these principles yield.

Reply — This is a serious charge to make against
intellectual men, and we do not think it can be sub-
stantiated. No doubt ethicians do agree about their
conclusions and their codes, and differ very widely
about their principles ; but from this it does not follow
that ethicians deal dishonestly with their principles or
force them to unwarranted conclusions. De facto, many
ethicians hold fast to principles which they find it ex-
ceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to bring into
harmony with the accepted code. But it is strange that

* Prof. Busscl in " Personal Idealism " expressly impugns the
candour of ethicians in admitting, as part of their stock-in-trade,
principles which we " blush to examine, and for which we find it
impossible to account " (page 344).

26 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

it never occurred to Mr. Balfour that possibly these so
divergent principles really supplement one another —
that they are, to a large extent, genuine truths, if only
partial truths, and that, consequently, the codes they
make possible must in the main be one ; in other words,
that they are all partial views of the same central fact —
human nature and its needs. As a matter of fact we
are persuaded that this is the true explanation, and we
shall in the course of the following inquiry rarely find
ourselves obliged to discard any ethical theory wholly.
In practically all of them there is a great deal of truth
mixed up with some error. We do not, however, wish
it to be understood that the theorj^ we are going to offer
is one qf eclecticism. Eclecticism means weakness, com-
promise, insecurity. But to recognise the " true " in
what is in part false is not eclecticism but common sense.

(6) There is, then, the much repeated difficulty about
the " is " and the " ought." Science, we are told,
deals with the real, with what is, whereas Ethics deals
only with the ideal or with what " ought " to be.

Reply — The obvious answer to such a difficulty is
that Ethics is a normative science — that is, it offers us
norms or rules of conduct. Surely it is no drawback
to any science that it has a difjercntia, which distin-
guishes it from other sciences. Ethics, like Logic, treats
of what ought to be and not of mere facts or happenings.
Again, we do not recognise any very marked and essen-
tial distinction between the real and the ideal, between
what is and what ought to be, such as is here postulated.
Surely the necessity or " oughtness," of taking the one
road that leads to a town if a man would get to a town,
is a real necessity, and yet it is also ideal or a thing that
ought to be just in so far as a man may or may not take
the road. Now, as we shall see later, Ethics has just to
do with these teleological necessities, with the necessities
of certain ends of human appetite. These necessities
are real necessities and the means by which they are
pupplie4 are really " pieans." There \%, then, no absor

DEFINITION AND SCOPE OF ETHICS 27

lute cleavage between the ought and the is in Ethics,
any more than there is in " Medicine." The needs of
the body are as real as the body itself, and so are the
means to its development and maintenance. " Medi-
cine," therefore, is a real science. But it is also ideal
in the sense that, like Ethics, it tells what ought to be
done. The only distinction of " ought " and " is "
which we recognise in Ethics is that of the laws of con-
duct and the actual practices of conduct. These two
may not coincide, but it is the business of Ethics to
assign these laws of conduct not to tabulate the courses
of conduct which men will actually follow.

(7) And this leads us to another objection of Pro-
fessor Bussel * — that the end contemplated in Ethics is
always an ideal which the individual can never realise,
an ideal which belongs to a world beN'ond the present,
and is out of space and time, and so can give rise, not
to rational judgments, but to vague sentimentalities
and unreal yearnings which never can be satisfied.

Reply — Now, we admit that some ethical sj'stema
may be so described, particularly those which we shall
afterwards discuss under the heading of " Elpistic "
theories — theories, viz., which place the good of man in
what has been described as " asymptotical desire," or in
the working of the will towards an end which we may
always approach, but which we can never realise. But
Ethics, as we shall see later, has to do with a real end —
an end which we can prove real, as real as man himself,
an end, too, which man can reach — quern homo conseqtd
possit. It has to do also with the means which lead
thereto necessarily and infallibly. Then, in the matter
of the criterion, Ethics deals with our human nature —
a real principle, from which spring all the real properties
and perfections, relations and needs of man. In the
fullest sense of the word, therefore, Ethics deals not
with sentimentalities but with realities, and with rational
judgments concerning them.

* " Personal Idealism," pages 359 and 361.

CHAPTER II
ON HUMAN ACTS

In our last chapter we defined Ethics as the science of
human action in relation to our last end, and we gave a
brief account of what is meant by a human act. It will
be our duty in the present chapter, first, to enumerate
very generall}' the various kinds of human action, and
thus to determine in a rough way the subject-matter or
range of application of the science of Ethics ; then,
secondly, by a fuller investigation of the " elements "
or " principles " of the human act, or of what makes
an act human, to determine this subject-matter still
more closely and scientifically.

(a) Division of Human Acts

The human act we defined as an act which is done
under the control of Reason and will ; and as Ethics is
the science of human action or conduct we may regard
any act that is controlled by the rational will as falling
within the compass of this science and as governed by
ethical law. Now, roughly speaking, the rational will
controls two classes of acts — its own acts and the acts of
certain other powers — or those acts which are done by
and completed within the will itself, and which we call
elicited acts of will, and those acts which, though done
by other powers, are- yet done at the command of the
will, and are therefore called commanded acts. Both of
these two classes of acts, and not the second merely (it
will not be necessary to remind the reader), are com-
manded by the will, but it is usual and convenient to
apply the expression " commanded acts " to the second

ON HUMAN ACTS 29

class alone^ — that is, to acts that proceed from other
powers but at the command of will. Examples of these
two classes will readily suggest themselves. " Wishing "
is an elicited act of will, because it involves the exercise
of no other human faculty but that of will. It begins
and is completed within the will itself. On the other
hand, walking and speaking are " commanded " acts of
will, because they belong to and proceed from other
powers, but are done at the command of and under the
control of will.

The following is a complete enumeration of the
various kinds of " elicited act " — wish, intention, con-
sent, election, use, and fruition.*

Wish (vclle) means simply the love of, or inclination
of the will to, anything. It precedes all other acts of ijji>'*'^
will. Intention f is a movement of the will actually to
gain the end wished. Formally this act appertains to
the end not to the means, though, of course, actually
gaining really invoh'es the taking of means. Now,
having determined to gain the end, the will must move
to embrace whatever means may be found necessary.
This is consent. One of the many possible means must
then be chosen and adhered to by the will. This will-
act is called election. It is preceded by the intellectual
act of " counsel." Use is that act by which the will
directs and moves the other faculties to realise the
particular means chosen by the will. Fruition is the
enjoyment of the end attained. Of these elicited acts

* These are translations of the scholastic expressions — telle, in-
tendere, consensus, electio, usus, fruitio.

t " Intention " is sometimes used to signify the object of desire.
Mill defines " intention " as what one wills to do, as distinguished
from " motive," or the feeling prompting to the act. With Bentham
" intention " means that on account of which, or in spile of which,
any thing is done. It includes, therefore, the pleasant and the un-
pleasant consequences, whilst " motive " means that on account of
which a thing is done. This is also MacKenzie's meaning. Hegel
distinguishes " purpose " and " intention." Purpose is the end de-
sired with its concrete circumstances. Intention is the essential
element in desire. Thus, to bum a house is the intention ; to burn
this man's house and in such a way is the pui-pose.

30 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

three appertain to the end — namel}^ wish, intention and
fruition. The other three appertain to the means.

Commanded acts it would not be possible to enumerate
with any such precision because they belong to so many^
powers, and are often very complex. At present we can)'
only divide them under the two broad categories o0
internal and external act — that is, ^he will can command'
the actions of the internal powers and of external powers)
An INTERNAL human act is one that involves the use of
internal mental powers only, like remembering and'
reasoning ; an external act is one that involves the;
use of bodily powers also, for instance, the acts of th&
external senses and the various bodily movements^)
And though in the case of these outward actions the>
external element is neither prior in order of time nor the?
more important ethicall}'', still it is customary to speak
of the whole human act as external, and not merely
that part of it which is material and can be seen or felt
by others. Thus the purposeful killing of a man is
accounted an external human act.

Now, it may be considered that in giving prominence
here to the external element in human action we are
extending the range of application of this science beyond
its proper limit, since morality is a quality of the free
and deliberate act onl3^ whereas the movements of the
body are material and determined, and subject rather
to physical laws and conditions than to moral laws.
But it should be remembered that though the external
act is in part physical and material, the whole actf and
not merely that part of it which is internal is caused by
and done under the control of the human will, and that
therefore both " external " and " internal " make up
between them one act, which, as human and con-
trolled by will, has a right to be considered in this
science.

It is well also to point out in this connection that it
is exactly in the kciihc just explained that our internal
will-acts arc intjral. For it is not because our internal

ON HUMAN ACTS 31

will-acts reside in the will as their subject that they are
free and moral (there is one such act that is not free
and moral — namely, the desire for happiness), but
because they are controlled by will. And since the
external act is also controlled by will, it also is free and
rr oral.

The division of human acts into elicited and com-
manded acts of will, and into internal and external, gives
us some rough idea of the range of application of this
science of Ethics. Qt is the science which prescribes
laws for all human action, whether elicited or com-
manded, internal or external, in relation to our last
end.^

We must now go on to a fuller and closer investiga-
gation of the nature of the human act.

{h) Of What makes an Act Human

^he human act is characterised by three essenti^
qualities — (i) knowledge, (2) voluntariness, (3) freedony
All three are necessar}^ to it, and, as necessary, they are
called " principles " of the human act. Some acts fail
to be human from ignorance, because a man does not
know what he does, as when a person shoots at a bird
and kills a man whom he had not seen ; some because
they are not voluntary — that is, they do not proceed
from will, for instance, purely reflex acts, also, move-
ments to which we are compelled under stress of vio-
lence ; some, because they are not free, like the acts of
madmen or acts done in sleep. But all three " prin-
ciples " must be present in an act before we can speak
of it as Imman.

For, as we saw, a human act is one that is controlled
by will. But (i) will depends on intellect — it is a
psychic appetite. It desires, therefore, onl\^ what is
known, and v,hat the intellect presents to it as desir-
able. Hence knowledge is necessary to the human act.
{2.) That the human act must be voluntary — that is.

32 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

must proceed from the will either as elicited by the
will or as commanded by it— follows from our very
definition of the human act as an act done under the
control of the rational will. (3) Again, the human act
must be free. This also follows from the definition of
a human act. For, as we shall see in a later chapter,*
a free act is any self-determined act of will, any act
which the will causes in itself. But an act of wiU which
the will does not itself produce, which is necessitated in
the will by inner nature, or forced upon it by violence
from outside (if that were possible), is plainly not under
the control of the will, and therefore such an act is not
a human act. Consequently, a human act must be free.

Now, though each of these principles is necessary to
a human act, still it is not unusual to speak of a human
and a volunta}'y act as one, and to include ajl three con-
ditions under the second condition, or voluntariness, the
reason being that vohmtariness, whcM perfect, includes
all three. For, first, a voluntary act is one that proceeds
from the will, and every will-act, as we have already
explained, depends on knowledge. Again, an act could
not be said to proceed, in the full sense of the word, from
the will, or to be voluntary, when it is caused "within the
will either by nature or by some external influence. An
act proceeds from the will or is voluntary, in the fullest
and most perfect sense of that word, only when it is
caused by the will, and such an act is, according to our
definition, a free act.

A voluntary action, then, understood in its most
perfect sense, is always free, and any act that is not
free is voluntary in a qualified and imperfect sense
only.t

•pago 178.

t St. Thomas Aquinas defines a vohinlary act as one that proceeds
from will, with (in sense fif through) a knowledge of the end. When
free, such acts, he says, Iwlong to the will as will. When not free
thoy belong to will a? nature.

Wc sliuuid notice, also, that of all the acts that proceed from will,
only one is not a free act — namely, the desire for happiness. Sec
Chapter on Freedom a«d Morality.

ON HUMAN ACTS 33

But though voluntary acts and free acts may be
regarded under certain technical conditions as co-
extensive in their range, still it is necessary to insist
that freedom is no part of the direct connotation of
voluntariness, which latter term means simply that an
action proceeds from will or that the will is directed
or inclined to some object. And it is in this sense that
we speak of voluntariness in the discussions that
follow, u

The human act as we have already seen, involves
three conditions — knowledge, voluntariness, and free-
dom. Now, of two of these conditions it will not be
necessary to speak at any length here — namely, of know-
ledge and of freedom. For knowledge is a necessary
part of every will-act, and it will be sufficiently dealt
with in our discussion on voluntariness. Besides, we
shall in the present chapter consider the impediments
to voluntariness, one of which is ignorance, and from
our discussion on ignorance we shall be able to see how
far knowledge is necessary to the human act. Con-
cerning freedom, it is only necessary to remember at
this point that any act is free which the will has power
to do or not to do, and that in this sense freedom is
necessary for every human act. An exacter and fuller
account of freedom and of its relation to Ethics will be
given in a later chapter.

But we must here enter upon a formal discussion of
the various kinds of voluntariness, or the various ways
in which an agent can be said to will aiv^^thing, for it is
not always easy to say what kinds of acts are voluntary,
or how far voluntariness or involuntariness may attach
to the same action, and, in that way, it is possible to
mistake the range of application of our science which
it will be remembered extends to voluntary acts
only.

Vol. 1—3

34 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

The following are some of the kinds of voluntariness
which are of most importance in ethical science : —

KINDS OF VOLUNTARINESS

(I.) Perfect and imperfect voluntariness, according as
we know clearly and full}^ intend what we do, or know
it only obscurely and consent to it only imperfectly.

(11.) Simple voluntariness [vohmtarium simpliciter)
and conditional voluntariness [voluntarhmi secundum
quid). The former means that the will either has no
repugnance to the thing done or that it has momentarily
put aside its repugnance in order to do the act ; the
latter, that we do a thing, but with a certain measure of
repugnance. That this second kind, however — the so-
called conditional voluntariness — has reference to in-
voluntariness rather than to voluntariness will be seen
from the following example, which also makes clear
the distinction between simple and conditional volun-
tariness. When the captain of a ship throws valuable
goods overboard in order to keep his ship afloat in
rough weather his act is sitfiply * or absolutely voluntary
because his act is done with full knowledge and consent,
but it is conditionally {secundum quid) involuntary,
which means that he would not have thrown the goods
overboard if there were no storm. In other words, he
throws them overboard with repugnance. His act in
this case is said to be voluntary simply [simpliciter) but
involuntary conditionally {secundum quid),

(III.) Direct and indirect, or in se and in causa. We
will a thing directly when we will it in itself either as
means or as end (when wished directly as end it is
wished not only in but for itself). Thus, the man who

• Examining this act from anotlior point of view Aristotlo speaks
of It as .simply (AirXiDt) involuntary ; that is, if you abstract from the
special circumstances of the case aiid consider the act itself of throwing
goods overboard, such an act is opposed to the person's will (oi'SfU
7A/1 Af IXoiTO KaOai'tb ruiv rotoOruv oM^c). Nich. Eth. HI., i, (>. liut,
under the circumstances, the act is willed — it is, therefore, con-
dilion;""'^' vi,|ihi1:ii v.

ON HUMAN ACTS 35

shoots in order to kill a bird wills both ends directly.
We will a thing indirectly when we will not the thing
in itself, but something of which it is a consequence.
Thus the man who fires a bomb-shell at a monarch,
knowing that it will kill the attendants also, wills in-
directly the death of the attendants, and consequently
the killing of them is voluntary, even though their
death is by no means a pleasure to the assassin.

(IV.) Positive and negative. Positive willing is the
willing to do. Negative * willing is the willing not to
do. The man who voluntarily neglects his business is
properly regarded as responsible for its decline as well
as the man who injures it by positive bad management.

(V.) Actual, virtual, habitual, interpretative.] Volun-
tariness or intention is actual when we consent to what
we do at the time of doing the act. It is virtual when
the thing done is the result not of a present but of a
former intention. It is habitual when the act done is
not the result of any intention present or past, but
nevertheless corresponds to an intention formerly made
and never retracted. An example will bring out this
distinction of virtual and habitual intention. The man
who sets out to walk along a road, and then in conversa-
tion with a friend ceases to attend to the fact that he is
walking, virtually intends every step he takes, for each
step is a result of the intention he has already formed.
But the man who, at some time during his life, made
up his mind to kill an enemy, and has not as yet re-
tracted that resolution, and afterwards, having quite
forgotten about his resolution, kills him for some other
independent reason, is said to have had the habitual
intention of killing his enemy. Intention is interpretative
when we have never actually willed a certain act but
would will it if we knew of it or of its necessity.

* In negative willing the attitude of the will is not one of pure
negation. The will must consciously refuse to act.

\ These qualifying expressions are more often used with the word
" intention " than with " voluntariness."

36 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

These two latter kinds of intention — habitual and
interpretative — though not so important as the first
two kinds, are not without their effects in morals and
in civil law.

Of the distinction drawn in the third place between
direct and indirect will we must now offer some further
explanation.

OF INDIRECT VOLUNTARINlgS OR WILL IN CAUS.

In determining the various kinds of acts that
within the ethical sphere, and may be gocxl or bad, it
is easy to see that at least all such actions lie within
the moral sphere and are good or bad which a man
consciously and deliberately elects to do. But some-
times, attached to those actions which please us and
which we wish to do, there are consequences which do
not interest us or which, perhaps, displease us, and it
is not always easy to say whether in willing the act
we may be justly said to will or be justly held account-
able for these consequences, and more particularly
whether, if these consequences are bad, we are bound
always to refrain from the action to which they attach.

Now, the first of these two qijestions may be answered
very briefly by saying that if a man knows that attach-
ing to his act there will be certain evil consequences,
then, whether he likes these consequences or does not
like them, we must regard their production as a vt)lun-
tary act ; for the will in causing an act from which
these consequences spring is indirectly also the cause of
the consequences of this act {causa causa est causa
causati). And this is none the less true because the
consequences may sometimes be displeasing to us.
For when we do an act we do the whole act, just as
when we buy a house we buy the whole house ; and
80 a man is said to will and be the cause of consequences
which, tak(!n in themHi^lves, he would not wish to pro-
duce, just as in buying u house we really will to own the

ON HUMAN ACTS 37

whole house though some features of it may displease
us, and even though it gives us no pleasure to own some
parts of it. The will, therefore, is the true, though the
indirect, cause of all the known consequences of our
action, and if the act that we do is a free act and the
consequences be foreseen then we are rightl}' held to
be responsible for them.

But a more difficult question arises concerning a
man's moral obligations in regard to these consequences,
whether, namely, in the case of evil consequences, he
is always bound to refrain from the action to which
they belong. And though we have not yet given any
principles of conduct which might guide us to the solu-
tion of this problem, still it arises so naturally out of
the question of indirect voluntariness now under con-
sideration that we shall be pardoned for making reference
to it at this early stage of our work.

Acts that are in themselves good or indifferent are
not always forbidden because of the evil consequences
to which they lead. For though the person who does
these acts is the cause of the consequences to which
they lead, still he is not their direct cause, nor does his
will rest in them as an object. It is always wrong to
wish evil directly, for acts are morally bad or good
according as the objects of our wills are bad or good.
But such a rule cannot be applied to cases in which
the will is not fixed on an evil thing, but is fixed rather
on some good thing from which certain evil consequences
follow. It would, for instance, be an absurd thing to
charge a ruler with evil-doing for engaging in a war
which is otherwise just because he knows that many
injustices will occur through means of it, or to prevent
a man from saving his own honour even though some
people might suffer from the disclosures that have to
be made in his defence. ^

The question then arises — when may an act be done
in spite of the foreseen evil consequences ? and when
is it forbidden on account of these consequences ?

38 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Plainly, if the consequences are all evil the act cannot
be done. For an act that has no good consequence is
bad intrinsically^ since if it were either good or in-
different it should have some good effect. It would
be at least an exercise of liberty. But our question
gains point in the case of an act with mixed effects,
some good, some bad, and concerning such acts we must
determine when they are allowed and when the}' are
disallowed.

Before, however, we answer this question it is neces-
sary to remark that causes of action may be very
different in kind and that they may bear very different
relations to the effects that flow from them. The causes
may be either physical or moral according as a man does
an act himself or persuades another to do it. Also
they are proximate or remote according as very few or
many secondary intervening causes are necessary to the
^effect. Again, some causes are natural, others are
accidental. Taking poison is a natural cause of death.
A passing locomotive engine is often the accidental
cause of fires in the vicinity of railways. These dis-
tinctions have a bearing on our question in some of its
applications, but it is only the general question that
shall here be answered.

Our answer is that acts, good or indifferent in them-
selves, but yet productive of evil consequences, are
allowed under the following three conditions, all of
which must be fulfilled : — (i) The bad effect must be
merely permitted — it must not be desired in itself. For
if the bad effect be desired in itself, evil is desired
directly, and it is never lawful jto<j will evil directly.
(2) The bad effect must be co-onTuiate with the good.
In other words, the good effect must not be itself a
consequence of the bad effect, for in that case the bad
^effect would be willed as a means to the good effect.
But to will a bad effect as means is to will it directly,
for means are always willed directly — that is, they are
willed, as we have already explained, in themselves

ON HUMAN ACTS 39

though not for themselves or for their own sake, and,
therefore, the will that is directed to them is necessarily
bad. (3) There must be a sufficient cause for per-
mitting the evil effect. A sufficient excuse is always
required for the doing of an act from which an evil effect
follows. And since the good, effect is, our excuse in the
present case, the present condition amounts to saying
that between the good and the evil effect there is to
be a due proportion. No man could for the sake of a
very small good do an act from which follows a very
great evil.

If these three conditions are fulfilled, an act, which in
itself is either good or indifferent, is allowable, in §pite
of the evil consequences to which it leads. But if even
one of these conditions be unfulfilled, then the act is
forbidden.*

Following these rules we shall be able to compute
when an act may lawfully be performed, which, though
good or indifferent in itself, involves the occurrence of
consequences that are morally evil. But of the two
questions proposed by us, the first — namely, how far
the effects of our actions may be regarded as voluntary
— is the more important for our present purpose, for
we are at present attempting to give a general account

* These conditions sometimes offer difficulty in practice. It is not
easy to know when the fjjood effect is proportional to the bad. In
estimating the proportion there are certain common-sense maxims to
be followed —for instance, that the more remote our act is from the
effect (considering the number of intervening causes necessary to the
production of the evil effect) and the less the likelihood of the effect
following from our act, the less is the excuse required. We should
also remember that if we decide on a course of action in one case — for
instance, if we decide that there being no proportion between the
good and the bad effect, the act is not lawful for us^ — then we must be*
prepared to forego this act every time the same circumstances are re-
peated. This of itself increases the awkwardness and evil of omitting
the act, and hence a less amount of good is required in the case of acts
which we often have occasion to do than in the case of uncommon acts.
Again, if a man is bound from his position to guard generally against
this .precise evil effect, then a greater excuse is required for the per-
mitting of the effect than is required in the case of a man who has no
special duties in regard to this effect. Thus a soldier on guard should
suffer almost any evil rather than do anything from which the betrayal
of his comrades might possibly follow as an effect.

40 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of what acts are voluntary and human, and, therefore,
are subject to ethical rule.

[d) Of what makes an Act less Human

Having now determined what it is that makes an
action human and thus brings it within the sphere of
ethical science, we turn next to consider a kindred and
not less practical question which also appertains to the
nature of the human act — namely, what are those things
that make an act less human, that diminish the moral
character of our acts ? In this, as in the preceding
question, we shall do very little more than explain the
teaching of the scholastic writers, and in particular the
teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas.

The perfectly human act is, as we saw, one of which
we have perfect knowledge, and which is perfectly under
the control of will. But opposed to knowledge is
ignorance ; and the control of the will is impaired from
two causes — namely, violence from without and passion
from within. And, therefore, we shall in the following
sections consider these three things-Zignorance, violence,
and passion — in relation to voluntarmess and freedoni^

^F IGNORANCE

Qgnorance means absence of knowledge in one who
has naturally the faculty of knowledge^ In reference to
action it may be either antecedent, concomitant, or
consequent. Ignorance is^ antecedent when the act that
we do is done through ignorance, and would not have
been done but for ignorance — on the contrary, would
have been avoided had we had any knowledge of our
action. It is concomitant when it is done merely in
ignorance, but not on account of ignorance, and there-
fore would have been done even if ignorance had been
replaced by knowledge. Ignorance is consequent wlion

ON HUMAN ACTS 41

it is itself consciously and voluntarily procured and
maintained by the agent.

When ignorance is antecedent, the resultant act- is
not only involuntary,* but is actually opposed to our
inner will, and therefore we are not responsible for it.
Thus a man who fir-es at an animal, not knowing that a
child is near, could not be said to kill the child volun-
tarily. Where ignorance is concomitant our act is simply
involuntary, in the sense of not willed (it is not neces-
sarily opposed to our wills), and we are not responsible
for its performance. When ignorance is consequent the
act is neither involuntary nor opposed to our will, but
is simply voluntary, and we are responsible for its per-
formance. Of consequent ignorance there are two kinds
— ignorance which is directly willed and ignorance
which is willed only indirectly. Qt is directly willed
when we actually strive to remain in ignorance — that
is, when we take care not to know ; indirectly when we
simply neglect to learn, but do not actually desire to be
ignorant. vThe first kind of ignorance is called affected
ignorance. The second when gravely culpable is called
crass, ignorances and it is gravely culpable when we
negleqt to use what, humanly speaking, are ordinary
means for its removal. Sometimes the removal of
ignorance is possible by the use of extraordinary means
only, and then our ignorance is not accounted con-
sequent, but concomitant. Now, neither of these two
kinds of consequent ignorance — affected or crass — makes
an act involuntary, for the simple reason that the act
done under their influence is due to that of which we
are ourselves the cause. But though affected and crass
ignorance do not wholly destroy the voluntariness of an
act, yet they do impair its voluntariness to some extent,
and if the act is bad they diminish the evil of it ; for it
is better to refuse to know the law, so as not knowingly

* The scholastics use the word " involuntarium " to denoto what
is opposed to a man's will. The English word cannot be so used. It
simply means " not voluntary " or " not willed."

42 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

jto break it, than to break the law with a fun conscious-
/ness that we are violating it. In the forn^er case the
violation of law is accompanied by some respect, i'ii the
latter there is violation and no respect

ON VIOLENCE

Violence destroys voluntariness and freedom in him
who suffers violence, for an act done through violence
is caused not by the agent who suffers the violence, but
by him who inflicts it, whereas voluntariness implies
that an act is done by the agent himself as cause.

However, it is sometimes hard to determine how far
an agent who is violently compelled to an act is to be
held responsible for the same. And this difficulty
arises from two causes — first, because an act may be
not wholly due to violence. A man may resist violence
and yet to some extent co-operate with it. Secondly,
even when the violence is such as cannot be resisted,
still ^he wiU retains always the power of determining
itself independently of the external violence used, for
violence cannot affect the willj Questions, therefore,
arise concerning the duty of external resistance and
also concerning the internal consent which may be
given. But these questions we shall not consider here,
since we are here merely considering what things can
affect voluntariness and freedom — violence being one
of them.

THE PASSIONS

The effect of passion on the voluntariness of acts is
set forth by St. Thomas Aquinas in a number of pro-
[H, iiiMiiH whirl^ have now come to be looked upon as
ii<<< s.iiy formuhe for the solution of practical (luestions
on voluntariness and responsibility. We give them here
witii the briefpHt possible explanation : —

(i) Concupmentia antecedens auget voluntariion sed

ON HUMAN ACTS 43

minuit liberum — that is, where passion is not itself con-
sciously worked up, where it precedes our act, it increases
voluntariness in the sense of increasing the onward
movement of the will, but it lessens liberty since it
lessens one's control over his act.

(2) Concupiscentia consequens auget voluntarium — that
is, where passion is consciously worked up it increases
voluntariness, for it increases the onward movement of
the will. It also increases liberty in sense of increasing
the amount of free action.

(3) Concupiscentia consequens ei totaliter tollens usum
rationis non tollit voluntarium. Passion, when directly
worked up, may completely take away the use of
Reason, and still the act is voluntary and free.

(4) Concupiscentia antecedens totaliter tollens usum
rationis tollit voluntarium. Passion which we do not
ourselves cause, and which completely takes away the
use of Reason, completely destroys voluntariness and
freedom.

(5) Concupiscentia non totaliter tollens usum rationis,
et antecedens. minuit liberum. Passion which we do not
ourselves cause, if it should interfere with the use of
Reason, lessens freedom for the reason given before.

These five propositions, in so far as they relate to
voluntariness, yield the following resultant which St.
Thomas Aquinas gives as expressing the general relation
subsisting between passion and voluntariness — concupi-
scentia magis facit voluntarium quam involupiarium —
the general effect of passion is to increase voluntariness
in the sense of intensifying the onward movement of
the will to any object.

It is usual in works on moral science to pay some
special attention to the passion of fear.* Fear is the
recoiling of the mind from impending evil. It h^sthis
distinctive characteristic, that it induces the will to do

* The full enumeration and classification of the passions can be
found in any standard work on Psychology — for instance, in Maher's
" Psychology."

44 THE SCIENCE OE ETHICS

an act which the will of itself would not do — that is,
which it would not do were it not under the influence of
fear. Thus the captain of a ship will, in order to save
his vessel, throw out even valuable goods which it is no
pleasure to him to lose. And though the throwing out
of these goods is secundum quid involuntary — that is,
would not be willed, did ordinary circumstances prevail,
yet absolutely [simpliciter] the loss of them is voluntary
since de facto these circumstances do prevail and the
goods are thrown over. When an act is done jrom fear

bits voluntariness is lessened, but not when done merely

\iDith fear.

Fear, like the other passions, may be so strong as
totally to destroy one's liberty, and an act so done is
hot a human act. It is an actus hominis, not an actus
humanus. But if fear be not so strong as to destroy
freedom, the act done under its influence is free and
human, in the degree in which Reason is allowed to
play its part. If the evil feared be grave, then the fear
is grave ; if the evil be light, then the fear is light.
But these terms must be understood as relative to the
person affected, for what would be grave fear for one
person may be light for another.

But the positive law often invalidates an act which is
done from fear, not because the act which a person does
from fear is not voluntary in itself, but because it is for
the common good that an act so done should be invali-
dated in certain cases. The conditions -generally re-
quired for such " invalidation " depend upon particular
forms of legislation and the kind of act that is being
legislated for. There is, however, one condition that is
pretty generally regarded as necessary ifi all such cases —
namely, that the fear which invalidates an act must be
excited by someone directly and wrongfully,' and for the
express purpose of obtaining consent to the act in ques-
tion— ** directe et injuste incussus ad exiorquendiim con-
sensum."
These are the principal elements that lessen Ihc human

ON HUMAN ACTS 45

character of acts — ignorance, violence and passion * —
and it is for the morahst to compute in individual cases
how far an act done under their influence is voluntary
and human and falls within the range of Ethical Science.

* Some ethicians give prominence also to habit as a fourth factor.
The consideration of it here would bring us too far afield in a work
like the present.

CHAPTER III

OF THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION *

Having in the preceding chapter treated of the human
act considered in itself, we must now treat of the ends
of human action, for, as we shall prove, every human
act derives its specific quality from the end to which it
is directed, and moral quality belongs to action in so
far as it is directed by Reason to the final end.
We shall, therefore, treat of three questions : —

(a) Of ends of human action, and in particular of
the last end.

(b) Of the objective last end, or of the object in
which our supreme happiness consists.

(a) Of Ends in General
(i) All human action is done for some end.

We have already distinguished between hunmn acts
{actus humani) and acts of men {actus hominis). Qiuman
acts, we showed, are acts that proceed from men as

♦ With the spread of the Kantian philosophy it became customary
to regard all systems of Ethics which based morality on distinctions
of " end " or " purpose " as spurious systems. The most recent
writers, however, have returned to the older Aristotelian theory and
regard Ethics as a teleological science.

We should mention that Kant himself saw no a priori difliculty
in the conception of a teleological Ethics, for he actually began his
exposition with an enquiry into the ends of human action, and it was
only l)ccausc he could not, amongst i\w various ends of action, iind a
final end or an end that was not a means to j)leasure (an assumption
which we shall disprove in the pre.sent chai)lei) that he rejected the
theory of teleological Ethics and adopted the theory of autonomy, to
be discussed later — p. O52.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 47

such — that is, from the will under the influence of
Reason^ An act of a man {actus hominis) is one which
belongs to a man in some way, but yet does not proceed
from will, and is not under the control of Reason. Now,
these latter acts may, indeed, be directed to an end, but
he to whom they belong does not direct them to their
end. The beating of the heart has a purpose, but that
purpose is of nature's making, not of man's. These
indeliberate acts we now put completely out of our
purview, for Ethics has nothing to do with them. We
have to treat of human acts only, and concerning these
human acts our first thesis is that they are all done for
some end. We take exercise for health's sake, or to
test our powers, or for mere amusement. We read for
information's sake, or to pass the time. All these are
acts of the will, and the will must wish " end," as is
evident from ordinary experience.*

• (2) Besides human agents other things also act for ends.

(Everything that moves tends to the attainment of
an end. But all action is movement. Therefore, every-
thing that acts tends to attain an end.y

Now, things move to ends in various ways and under
the influence of different appetites. Human movements
are self-directed — that is, they are the result of choice,
and are done under the control of the rational appetite
of will. Animals are moved by a sense appetite, and
their acts are not self-directed, because they neither
choose the end nor the means, nor do they formally
realise the relation between means and end. Aguntur
potius qiiam agunt, as St. Thomas Aquinas says. Plants
and the inorganic substances are moved to their ends
by what is sometimes called " natural " appetite, in the
sense of an appetite which has no dependence on know-

* Many modern ethicians are not sufficiently careful to distinguish
" end " from " consequence." End is nothing more than the object
which is desired. Consequences are not always desired.

48 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

ledge, whether intellectual or sensile,* but springs un-
consciously out of the very nature of the body, and is
inseparable from this nature. Animals and men are
also moved by " natural " appetites in so far as they
are substances merely, not conscious beings. But
whether the principle of action be intellectual appetite
or sensile appetite, or the mere natural appetite of un-
conscious life, all action, all change, is a movement to
the attainment of or the continued possession of some
end.

^(3) Human acts derive all their character from the end
to which they are directed.

(y\.ll movement is denominated by, and receives its
direction from, the endy And as acts are movements
they also receive their character from the end which
they subserve. Acts in general are distinguished ac-
cording to their objects. For when a thing is wholly
for another then what it is depends on that other.
Now, faculties are wholly for acts, and acts for their
formal objects. Hence it is from the object that we
determine the specific character both of the faculty and
the act. Thus we distinguish the various acts of mind
in Psychology by the objects which they concern. The
sensitive act concerns a particular material object ;
the act of intellect a universal object. But the object
of will is the end ; and, therefore, the character of our
will-acts is determined by end. Nor should we, gifl St.
Thomas Aquinas remarks, regard the end of the act of
the will as something quite extrinsic to the act. The
end is the term and principle of the act, and therefore
is part of its nature. It is because all will-acts are
specified through the end to which they lead that the

• The word " natural " has many meanings. Here it is used as
oppoHcd to " con.scious." It is sometimes also used to signify that
which is not the resull of free choice. Hut it is most generally used to
lignify that which accords with the requirements of tlic law of nature.
TniH third will be our meaning in the present work, except where we
•ay cxprcsyly tu the contrary.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 49

science of Ethics begins with the study of ends, or that
it is teleological.

V|4) There must he a final end to which all human acts
are directed.

This proposition is simply an application of the
general formula that a dependent series cannot extend
to infinity. It must have a beginning somewhere. A
dependent series is a series in which each member
depends for its existence on some other member, that
again on another, and so on. Now, a series of which
all the members are dependent, is intrinsically impos-
sible. For a number of dependent members implies
the existence of one independent member on which the
others depend. If there be no such independent member
the others could not have come into existence. Granted
their existence, therefore, the existence of the indepen-
dent unit is necessarily conceded. That independent
unit will form the beginning of the whole series, and
from it the rest will proceed in due order.

Now, the series considered in Ethics — the series of
means and ends — is a dependent series. For it is be-
cause the end is desired that we desire the means.
We desire a, because we desire b to which it leads,
h because we desire c, and so on. Being a dependent
series, this extending line of means and ends must finish
(and in another sense must begin) somewhere with an
end which is desired for its own sake only, ^hat end
with which the whole series of_means and ends terminates
is our supreme and final good.j

'■* (5) All that a man desires is desired on account of the
ultimate end.

St. Thomas' proof of this very important proposition
is two-fold : —

First, the final end is related to movements of appetite

* Et Sri Ti WXos iffrl tCiv vpaKrQv 6 SI airrd ^ovXSfieOa r^XXa 5^ Siii tovto,
Kai fj.T) rrtt'ira Si 'inpov alpovfitda {vpdeKTi yap oOtu y els &ireipov uxtt elvai
Kevi]v Kai /jLaraiav T7]f 6pe^ii>), S^Xov wj i-oi>r' &v fft) rdyadbv Kal rb tpuTTOv.
— (Nich. Eth., Book \ , ch. U.)

Vol. 1—4

50 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

as the first mover is related to other movements. But,
in other movements, the secondary or subordinate
movers act by virtue of and in so far as they are moved
by the prime mover. Therefore, also, it is by virtue
of the ultimate end that subordinate ends are able to
move our wills ; consequently whatever else a man may
desire he desires it on account of the ultimate end — that
is, as leading to the ultimate end, or as seeming to lead
to it.

Secondly, that which a man desires he desires under
the aspect of good, which if it be not itself the perfect
good, which is our ultimate end, is sought as tending to
the perfect good. " For the beginning of anything is
ordained to its perfect accomplishment, not only in the
case of things which are of nature's making, but also in
the case of products of art. Hence an imperfect good is
always looked for as an instalment of the perfect, which
is our ultimate end." This principle, on which St.
Thomas lays so much stress [omnis vnchoatio perfcctionis
ordinatur in perfectionem consummatam) , will come before
us again in other connections, and it is well we should
have a clear idea of what it means. We shall illustrate
it by example. It does not mean that if a man puts
a pound into his pocket he puts it there necessarily as
leading on to more. It means that if a man wishes to
put a pound into his pocket, then each shilling that he
puts in his pocket is placed there as leading up to the
pound. So also, if the ultimate end of any series be
already determined upon and desired, then each member
of the series is desired as leading to, and by virtue of
our desire for, the last end. But we shall show * that the
final end is necessarily desired, and therefore all other
ends are desired as leading to it.

Again, the principle that everything is done with a
view to the ultimate end does not mean that in each act
that we do we must think actually of the ultimate end.
For a man does not think of the end of his journey at

* pago ax6.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 51

each step. It means simply that each end is sought in
virtue of our ultimate end, as each step in walking is
taken in virtue of the end we desire to reach in walking.

^(i) To any 9ne individuMl there cannot he many ulti-
mate ends.*

The reason of this proposition is contained in the very
notion of ultimate end. The ultimate end of anj^lhing
is that which fills up the measure of its capacities, and
includes everything which that thing may achieve or
tend to achieve. Thus the ultimate end of a plant is
flowering and bearing seed, because these acts fill up its
highest capacity, and to them all the other capacities
are directed. So the end of each man will be found to
consist in that act or object which leaves him nothing
to be desired. Now, if for each individual man there
were many final ends no one of them could fulfil the
. conditions of a final end ; for no one of them could
satisfy our appetites. Having attained any one of
them it would still be possible to desire the others.
Hence no man can have many final ends.

Again, the final end must be natural. But the nature
of each thing is determined to one end only : the eye
can see only, the ear hear only. So also the final end,
being natural, will be one only.

We may be permitted to ask here whether the final
end, besides being one, is also a single thing. If an
animal were possessed of only two perfectly co-ordinate
appetites, with objects quite distinct from each other,
its end would be one but complex — it would be the sum
of those two dbjects, and, if possible, their simultaneous
attainment. But in organisms generally, the appetites
are not co-ordinate. One faculty is built on another
and includes the object of that other, and therefore
their final end will not be complex but single. It will

♦This does not mean that the ultimate end must be one thing or
simple. It means that there cannot be many objects each of which is
our ultimate end.

52 THE SCIENCE OE ETHICS

be the highest end of the highest faculty. In man
the will includes in its object the object of every faculty.
Man's final end therefore will be what satisfies the will,
and as each faculty has a single natural object this end
will be single.*

V (7) The ultimate end is the same for all men.

That men often mistake their last end is true ; and
so far men certainly are not in agreement about what
it consists in. Some men place it in riches, some in
honour, some in bodily pleasure. Even about these
things, however, there is this much unity — that they
are all looked upon and desired as a perfection of some
kind, and so far men are in agreement concerning the

' ultimate end. But apart from subjective views of the
matter, and speaking of objective truth alone, we affirm
that all men have a common ultimate end. For nature,
as we observed in our last paragraph, is determined to
one end always. Things, therefore, that have the same

I nature must in so far have also the same ultimate natural
end, which is merely the perfect fulfilment of the common

'nature. The end of the eye is the same in all men. The
end of the ear is the same for all ; and so for every
natural organ or function. The last end of our whole

• Dr. Simmel remarks in his " Einleitung " that " the assumption
of a single last end is one of the most widespread errors of teleological
thinking." We quite agree with Dr. Simmel that we have no right to
take the existence of a single ultimate end for granted. With us, how-
ever, it is not an assumption, but an established fact. What the
single end is will be shown presently, and the proof of it will rest
upon the natural content of our appetites.

To the same effect we have the contention of modem evolutionist
philosophers, that since man is possessed of many appetites he cannot
have a single ultimate end. " The happiness which all men desire,"
writes Ix-slic Stephen, " is not a single end, but a name for many and
radically different forms of gratification. The description just given
(that of the ultimate end as single) would hold in strictness of notliing
but a polyp — an organism swayed by a single desire." We reply that
every organism must move to a single end, else it is not an organism.
The end of a locomotive is one. The end of man with his faculties
and apiK'titcs will l)c one also. In the ca.sc of man the separate
faculfie.s have each, no doubt, their own end ; but they will W all
contained nccc.s.sarily in the object of the master appetite — the will.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 53

nature as men, the last natural end of our supreme
appetite — -.that is to say, the appetite which includes the
objects of all the others — must be one and the same in
all. Hence the final end is the same for all men.

(b) The Ultimate End

Our ultimate end is twofold — objective and subjective]
By objective * end we mean the end or object which we
desire ultimately to attain, whether that object be
within us or without us. By subjective end we mean
the attainment and possession of the thing desired, or
what is called beatitude. There can be no doubt about
there being two ends of human action — a subjective and an
objective end — as experience and Reason both prove, and
they are certainly correlated, each being for the other.
We must, therefore, enquire in what each of those ends
respectively consists. The objective final end, or that
thing which we finally aim at attaining, is evidently that
object or end wliich \\'ill completely fill up our capacity
for desiring, completely satisfy our appetites ; and as
the will or master appetite includes in its object the
objects of all the other appetites the final objective end
will be that the attainment of which satisfies the will.
The subjective final end Aristotle calls by the name
happiness {evSai/iovia). By happiness, however, as
subjective end of action, he means the satisfaction of
desire, or, which is the same thing, the attainment of an
end desired. Happiness in this sense is to be carefully
distinguished from that delight (vySony) which hedonists
say, constitutes our final end, viz., that glow of pleasure-
feeling which sometimes, and indeed only sometimes,

* The reader should take notice of the meaning here given to the
word " objective." By objective end we do not here mean " external
end " necessarily, but simply ," that thing which is desired." Our
present question, therefore, is — what is that thing which the will
ultimately desires, and on account of which it desires all other things ?
Whether this thing is external to the will or internal will be discussed
later— p 59.

54 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

arises in one when an end desired has been attained.
Pleasure or dehght in this sense, so far from being
identical with that happiness which Aristotle represents
as our final subjective end, is spoken of by him as rrierely
an ingredient of happiness, and a necessary ingredient
only of perfect happiness.* We shall now discuss the
question of our final end, first the objective, second, the
subjective end.

Of the Objective Final End

Concerning the object of perfect happiness or our
final objective end we ask two questions — (i) Is it
possible to determine this end ? (2) What is this end ?

(i) Just as the final end of a tree or a horse is that
end or sum of ends which fully satisfies its capacities,
so the final natural objective end of man will be that
end which fully satisfies the range of his natural appetites
and capacities. Aristotle describes the final end, as self-
sufficing, or, all-sufficing, that is, it must be such as to
satisfy the whole range of our appetites {rh yap reXeiov
dyadhv ovTapK€s €7vai So/cei) ; and he himself teUs us what
is meant by self-sufficing — it means what makes life
fully desirable and in want of nothing (to 8'aiVap«:€s ridefxev

• olofieOa re Seiv ijSovrjv Trapafjie/iixOai rrj evS/xovia (Nich. Eth. X., 7).
That happiness as final end of action was regarded by Aristotle
as distinct from the glow of pleasure-feeling which Hedonists
represent as constituting our final end is obvious from A's definition
of happiness, which is the act of a faculty about its object in accordance
with perfect excellence. The glow of feeling just described is not the
act of a faculty about its object.

It is highly important that the reader should appreciate fully
Aristotle's conception of happiness. The feeling experienced as a
consequenoe of attaining an end desired may indeed accompany
happiness, but there is a more fundamental element still, the essen-
tial constitutive element of happiness, viz., the attaining of the end
desired. Happiness and satisfaction are one. And satisfaction, or
the satisfying of desire, or the bringing of a desire to rest, consists in
the attaining of the end. The glow of feeling mentioned may or may
not accompany tiiis act. A man CJin be ha]>j)y without these feelings.
In many moments of intense, and in practically all cases of (juiet,
l)aj)i)iiicsH we are conscious merely of attaining an end desired,
Hapi»ini-sH, therefore, essentially consists in attaining an end desired.
It consistH a» Mr. NIallock writes (Crit. Exam, of Socialism, p. 2J^
in " the cquatiou between desire and attainment."

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 55

o /JLovovfKVOv alperhv Trotei tov /3tov /cat firjSevo'i ei'Sea). The final

end, therefore, must include all that we can desire.
As Sir A. Grant finel}/ remarks, the last end must be
the best " not as being really placed on a level with
other goods, or ranked among them as being the ' best
of the lot,' but as including all the lot in itself so that
beside it there is no (human) good left that could possibly
be added to it."

Now this end it must be possible to determine, for
by Psychology we are able to determine the objects of
the various faculties — vision, intellect, the appetites, etc.,
and the final_ objective end is merely that which includes
the objects of all the appetites. Furthermore it is not
necessary to determine the objects of all the appetites
but only of the will : for the will, in its object, includes
the objects of the other appetites, it being possible to
will any end which is desirable in any way. Hence
the final end will be that object which satisfies the will :
and since it is possible to determine the object of will
as of any other capacity, it is possible to determine the
final end.

We cannot, therefore, accept the view which is advo-
cated by many recent evolutionist philosophers — for
instance, by Green — that though we may determine the
kind of action that will promote our final end, it is
nevertheless not possible to determine the end itself or
to say in what it consists. We may not, indeed, know
everything about our final end — its constitution and the
place and time of its attainment — just as, whilst knowing
that the object of hunger is food, we need not know the
chemical constitution of food. But there is nothing to
prevent our being able to determine the function and
object that constitutes our final end, in so far, at least,
as that end is necessary to the full and adequate satis-
faction of our highest natural appetite ; for the highest
natural appetite will consist of a psychical tendency to
some end, and it is not possible that Psychology should
not be able to determine that encj.

56 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(2) What is the final objective end ?

This end we now go on to determine ; and first,
negatively — that is, we must see in what our final end
does not consist ; second, positively, we shall inquire
in what it consists.

(l.) OF THE THINGS THAT DO NOT CONSTITUTE THE
FINAL END.

The final end of man does not consist {a) in certain
finite external objects with which some have identified
it — e.g., money, honour or power ; (b) nor in any good
of the body, like bodily health or strength ; (c) nor in
pleasure ; {d) nor in any good of the soul, like the soul
itself, or virtue, or knowledge, or culture ; {e) nor in the
adapting of our inner powers to outer environment.

{a) It does not consist in riches, for riches are nothing
more than a means to other things, like knowledge, food
and pleasure ; nor in honour and glory, which consist
rather in a mental act elicited by other persons than an
act of ourselves ; and, besides, presuppose in us that
very excellence and attainment which is our last end ;
nor in worldly power, since excellence is the doing of
good things or the attainment of good ends, not the
power to do so, just as evil is the doing of evil things,
not the power to do so.

St. Thomas Aquinas sums up all such " goods " in the
following general argument : — The final end must fill up
the capacity of the will for desiring [quietare appetititm).
Now, that which fully satisfies the will must, first of all,
exclude from the will the possibility of unhappiness,
whereas finite external goods can be possessed along
with unhappiness ; secondly, the final end must give us
all that we desire, whereas finite external goods still
leave much to be desired — v.g., knowledge ; third, it
must not of itself make us unhappy, whereas money and
honour are often themselves the root of misery ; finally,
our iiighcst natural end nuist be a good to which we
tend necessarily. But external finite goods arc not

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 57

necessarily desired. They often come to us without
our desiring them, and accidental!}', and they are then
called, not natural acquirements, but goods of fortune.
Our final end, therefore, does not consist in such goods
as riches or honour or power.

(b) The highest good cannot he any good of the body,
because the body and its excellences are only part of
the human good, and the lesser part. Besides, man's
highest good must certainly be a something in which
he surpasses the lower animals, whereas there is no
bodily good in which he is not surpassed by man}^
animals. The elephant, as St. Thomas Aquinas remarks,
surpasses him in length of life, the lion in strength, the
stag in swiftness. Spencer, speaking of those very same
cases given by St. Thomas, maintains that, even though
the lower animals live longer than man, our end may
still consist in the maximum of vitality, because, though
the lower animals surpass him in length of life, they do
not surpass him in length and breadth combined — i.e.,
in the amount of living activity that the}- put forth.
With this contention of Spencer we cannot agree. Man's
acts are, indeed, more varied than those of the lion, but
man does not necessarily exercise more living activity
than the lion, and experience makes it clear that the
total output of life is greater in the case of many of the
lower animals than in the case of man. This point,
however, will be discussed more fully later.*

{c) The final natural end cannot consist in pleasure. A
full examination of this question is reserved for our
chapter on Hedonism. We treat it here, following St.
Thomas Aquinas, simply for the sake of completeness,
and we shall, therefore, limit ourselves to one point of
ouY proof — that, namely, which is derived from the
analysis of " natural desire," by which we mean those
desires which spring from nature itself, and are not the
result of previous deliberation and choice. Before,
however, giving our proof we may be allowed to repeat

• Chapter on Evolution.

58 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the sense of the question which we are here discussing.
Our question is whether pleasure is man's final objective
end — that is, whether pleasure is that which is wished
in every desire, whether it is that on account of which
we wish for all other things, whether it is that whose
attainment and possession will thoroughly satisf}^ us.*
We do not at present ask whether pleasure is our sub-
jective last end — that is, whether the final act or state
by which we attain and possess our final objective end,
and which, therefore, constitutes the final inner satis-
faction of the will, is pleasure. This question we shall
discuss later, when it will be shown that pleasure is not
even our final subjective end. Our present question is —
Is pleasure that which the human will ultimately aims
at or desires in all its acts.

Our proof that pleasure is not our final objective end
is as follows : —

That object will constitute our final natural end which
is fundamental and primary in such desires as nature
herself produces in the will. Now, pleasure is not the
fundamental and primary object to which nature directs
our wills, for in the order of nature desire for an object
outside the will is prior to all other desires, even the desire
for pleasure. Hence pleasure is not our final objective
end.

The principle here given — that the primary objective
end of the natural appetites is external to the appetite
^nd not within it — is a fundamental and a highly im-
portant proposition. t We know that we ourselves in
jour deliberate or artificial acts, as opposed to those
'movements which nature itself sets up in our appetites,

• It is evident that by " objective " here we do not mean " ex-
ternal." It is too plain that pleasure could not be external.

f This doctrine was expressly taught by many of the school-
men besides St. Thomas Aquinas. In his account of Peter Lombard's
philosophic teaching (" Die I'hilosophie des IVtrus I.ombardus und
ihrc Stcllun^ im Z\v(i!flen Jliarlnindcrt "), Dr. K.sp(•nl)er^,'c•r writes : —
" Indes nicht die Lust als solclu; ist das letzte Ende unseris Handclns,
sondcrn cin Etwas, cine SAche die uns Lust gewiihrt." The sam
doctrine i« taught by many niodern philosophers who are not of th<'
Khoiastic tradition. See later p. 283.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 59

can wish for these ends in any order. We can wish
the external object without thinking of our inner state
of pleasure, as when a man loves conversation with
friends ; or we can wish the state of pleasure first and
then look about for an object which will make us happy.
In other words, whatever be the order of nature's desire,
we can by reflection return upon it and take its ends in
any order whatsoever, either external object first or
pleasure first. With these artificial acts we have for
the moment nothing to do, but are interested only in
what we have called the ?iahiral desire of the will. The
question is — On which of these two ends has nature fixed
our wills primarily — the inner state of pleasure or the
external object ? We answer — On the external object.

Our proof is as follows : — Will and the appetites
follow cognition. We desire that which we know ; and
we naturally desire first what we naturally know first.
But the primary * and natural objects of our under-
standing are external things, not states of the under-
standing itself, of consciousness, or of will. All know-
ledge begins in the external senses, and the external
senses know only external objects. For example, the
sense of sight is not immediately conscious of any par-
ticular state of itself, but only of the material world
beyond itself. And as intellect follows the senses its
primary object must be something in these external
objects and not a state of consciousness or of will. All
knowledge begins, therefore, with the external world,
and only later, and by a reflex act, do we come to appre-
hend our own subjective states. A baby, as certain
modern philosophers point out, looking upon the lighted
candle, lives wholly otd of itself, -\ that is, it has not yet

♦ Primary, both chronologically and rationally. The natural
foundations are deepest and first, even chronologically.

t To the same effect we have Prof. Taylor's argument in " Problems
of Conduct " (page 77), that the object of knowledge is not the " self "
or subject, neither is it the object in relation to a self. In knowledge,
he tells us, we often are aware of nothing but the external object, and
so far as knowledge is concerned we are at that moment nothing more
than these external objects. " At these times," he writes, " a man

6o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

learned to reflect upon itself. Its knowledge of self
comes later. And as the knowledge of self is only
secondary in the order of nature, so also is the appetition
of self or of any state of self only secondary in the order
of nature. The will, therefore, is fixed upon the external
object primarily, and it is because the will is fixed upon
the external object that it desires the state of pleasure
or delight which follows on the attainment of its
object.

On account of its importance we will develop this
point a little further.

No natural conscious impulse or craving is ever
primarily a movement to a mere state of that in which
the impulse is excited. That in which nature excites
conscious craving is moved by nature primarily to an
outer object and only secondarily and consequently to
the state of itself which that object is to induce —
namely, pleasure.

Thus the first desire of an animal or of children (the
first tendency, for instance, of hunger or of thirst) — a
desire which is undoubtedly due to the working of the inner
nature of the appetite, and represents its pure natural
operation — is always a desire for some object other than
pleasure. For the desire of pleasure can only arise
when experience has made known the existence of

loses all consciousness of liinisclf as in any way being anything more
than the succession of liglits and scents and sounds, or of these as in
any way objects other than himself." And on page 78 — " The
subject -object form of consciousness " (that is, the form in which
we know an object merely as related to ourselves), " is not a primary
and inseparable form of human experience. There is the more
primitive state whicli was probably our condition in our ante-natal
days, as well as in our earliest infancy..- At this earliest stage of ex-
perience wc have as yet neither ' subjects ' nor ' objects ' (in the
sense of object as related to us), but impersonal psychical contents"
(that is, we luivc only contents of which the self forms no part).

This view of Taylor's is, of course, ;in exaggeration. Tiie knowing
8u!)jcct never hrcomci tiie object which it knows. His view, however,
cniphaMses a truth which relativists olten forget, that in common
experience tlie content of cnir consciousness often ineludes no reference
to ourselves, and lliat, as Kd, von llartinann says, the more primitive
and naive our consciousness becomes the more objective it becomes,
and the less it tells us of the sell or ol its states. See p. 282.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 6i

pleasure, and, since pleasure arises first on the attain-
ment of some end of desire, it follows that pleasure
becomes known to us or is first experienced on the ful-
filment of or in the obtaining of the object of one's first
desire. Hence pleasure is not itself the object of the
first desire of any appetite.

Again, nature does not drive the bird in building-
time to remove from the appetite a certain inner state
of uneasiness and to substitute for it another state of
pleasure or rest. Nature directs the bird simply and
directly to build a nest, and as a result of the pursuit
and the attainment of that object the inner feeling
of unrest is removed and pleasure ensues. It is so also
even in the case of those conscious, particular, yet
natural desires which arise in a man independently of
free will. The man who loves money or conversation
with friends thinks primarily, not of any inner state
which is induced by their possession, but of these
objects themselves, and in the attainment of these
objects he is at rest. We can, indeed, if we care, wish
directly for happiness or contentment, and we often do
so ; for, as rational beings we are gifted with this power
of reflection, and through it, as already said, we can
take all the steps of nature singly, and in any order we
like, even in an order opposed to that of nature. In
other words, we may, by a positive act, and by reflec-
tion, first fix our attention on our own inner pleasure,
and then seek out a means of promoting it. But with
all natural craving this order is reversed. The love of
friends, the love of man for a woman, the love of boat-
ing, of hunting, are all primarily movements of the
appetite to outer objects — i.e., to things outside the
will, and to pleasure secondarily.

We may, therefore, state our argument as follows : —
The fundamental and primary natural object of our
will, as of any other faculty, represents its final natural
end. But pleasure is not the fundamental and primary
natural object of our will, but some other object outside

62 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

our wills. Therefore, pleasure is not our linal natural
end.

{d) Our final objective * end cannot be something within
the soul.

Examples of things within the soul are the substance
of the soul itself, holiness, virtue, knowledge, culture.
We shall take these in order.

First, the final end is not the soul itself or what is
called the self, or self-realisation,] because our faculties
and appetites as has been already shown, tend primarily
to things outside of us, and hence the final natural end,
which is in the order of ends primary and fundamental,
cannot be within us. St. Thomas makes use of the
apt analogy that the captain of a ship never dreams that
the end of the ship is its own realisation, continued
existence, or development, or that it is his end as captain
to keep the ship in being, to realise it, or to develop it.
The end of the ship is the attainment of that definite
object which it is fitted to achieve — the carrying of its
freight safely to port, and the end or aim of the captain
is to guide his ship to harbour. J So also man — his own
guide and the shaper of his own destiny — cannot have
it as his end to keep himself in being or to develop him-
self, but to attain those ends which he is naturally fitted
to attain, to do such acts — that is, to take such means —
as will secure him the final object of the whole unity
of the appetites within him.§ And since these, as we

• Our mcaniriR here is, as has been already explained, that that to
which the will is finally directed is not something within the soul. See
note, page 53.

t liradley, " Ethical Studies," page 59. For further treatment of
this (jucstion of self-realisation, see Chapter on Evolution, page ^6i.

X " Summa Theol.," I"., 1I•^, Q. II., Art. 5.

§ In this argument from analogy, drawn from the aim or purpose
of the captain in respect to his ship, St. Thomas Aquinas evidently
reasons on the assumption which he has already proved, that as the
function of a ship is movement, and movement is always directed to
an external end, so the human functions from which we determine
the final end — namely, our cognitive appetites — have their jirimary
natural object without and not within themselves. In determining
the end of anything we have to examine its faculties or potentialities.
And as the faculties of man (all except the very lowest) relate to outer
objects primarily, so the end is without us.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 63

have seen, all tend naturally and primarily to an object
outside of themselves and outside of man, so also the
final natural end must lie in an external object.
Naturally, of course, the attainment of any end involves
development of the self, its sustainment, and even its
increase. But such development supposes the end at-
tained, and consequently our own development or
realisation is not our final end. As St. Thomas puts
it, the " adeptio ipsa " (attainment) and the " usus,"
or enjoyment of the end, belong to the soul, but the
end itself which is sought is quite distinct from the soul
or the self.

Before passing on to consider the other goods of the
soul, we shall here consider two important objections : —

(a) Evolutionists find some difficulty in the doctrine
that the final end of a thing can be something external
to the thing itself. Growth or evolution, they tell us
(and progress to our final natural end they necessarily
regard as in some sort an evolution), is a movement
from potentiality to act, from a lower condition of the
growing self to a higher and better condition of the self.
Our final objective end, therefore — the end to which our
movements are all finally directed — will be that highest
and most evolved condition of the self to which our
faculties and our potentiality extend.

Reply — Before considering this objection we may be
allowed to repeat what we have already explained, that
in the scholastic doctrine it is the objective end alone —
the " res ipsa quae appetitur ut finis " — which is re-
garded as external — as " aliquid extra animam." The
subjective final end, the act whereby we attain and
possess the res appetita, or, to use St. Thomas's expres-
sion, the " usus " or " adeptio " of the objective end, is
in the scholastic philosophy expressly described as an
inner act of the soul. Progress is so manifestly an act,
habit, or condition of the evolving subject itself that it
would be absurd to think that the scholastics made no
provision for a subjective final end, and, as we say, they

64 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

expressly describe the attainment of the final end as a
soul-act, as " aliquid animae." But that thing which
we finally tend to attain, and which serves as the first
principle of all hunian action, is, as we have seen, in
scholastic philosophy, external. Again, St. Thomas even
qualifies his assertion of an external objective end when
he writes that the objective end is not wholly extrinsic
to, or divided from, the human act. " The end," he
says, "is not altogether extrinsic to the act because it
is related to the act as principle or as term." * Thus
the objective final end, though external, is still to be
regarded as standing in intimate relation to the agent,
and even as completing his act, since a cognitive and
appetitive act can only be completed by the object
known or desired.

These explanations being given, we may proceed to
answer the evolutionist's difficulty. The theory of the
evolutionists that progress towards one's natural end
must necessarily consist in movement towards a higher
or more complex condition of the self, is founded on a
mistaken analogy between human progress and mere
vegetative growth or the growth of plants. It is true
that the plant in growing tends directly to the attain-
ment of some inner state or condition of the plant itself, f
Vegetative powers, as St. Thomas writes, concern the
corpus proprium, the body of the individual (" corpus
animce unitum "), and, therefore, progress in the case of
these faculties means movement to the attainment of
some higher condition of the growing subject, such as
greater quantity in the substance or greater differentia-
tion of the parts.

But the cognitive faculties, whether sensuous or
intellectual, extend to other objects besides the self,
and, as we have seen, their first and natural act con-
cerns exclusively external objects. Natural progress,

• " Summa Thcol.," I., II., Q. I., Art. 3.

f This is true of at least two of IIh; vegetative faculties, the
nutritiva and auf<mrntativa (" Halxiiit," as St. Thomas writes, " suum
efiectum in co in quu uunt "). It is aot altogether true of the general iva

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 65

therefore, in the case of these faculties means move-
ment, not to a higher condition of the self, but to a
fuller and fuller attainment of objects beyond the self.
But the differentiating mark of human progress is given
not in what is lowest in man but in what is highest, not
in the vegetative faculties but in the intellectual ; and,
therefore, the end of human progress must be the at-
tainment through knowledge of some object beyond the
self, some object, as we saw before, which will fully
exhaust the capacity of our cognitive powers and bring
the appetites to rest. Man's final objective end, there-
fore— the " res quae appetitur ut finis " — cannot be a
condition of the thinking self, since our cognitive
faculties reach outside the self.

But is not the self the end even of cognition, evolu-
tionists may enquire ; and is it not merely as affording
us increased power of mind, more general information,
a more refined culture, ■ or some other inner condition
of the soul that cognition is desirable ? and, therefore,
is not our objective end (the res quce appetitur) an inner
state rather than any outer object ?

Our reply is — Knowledge means either the inner
power and habit or the act of knowledge. But the end
of thinking cannot be the inner power to know nor the
inner habit of knowledge (that is, knowledge possessed
but not actually in exercise). Powers and habits of
soul are of value only in so far as they lead on to acts.
The power to walk, to sing, to eat is useless if it does not
lead on to operation ; and even habitual knowledge, or
knowledge which is not actually in exgrcise, is valuable
only in so far as it may at some future time be exercised.
The inner power of knowledge, therefore, or habitual
knowledge cannot be the end. There remains the
act.

Now, what, we ask, is the end of the act of knowing ?

In other words, to what is the mind directed when it

knows ? Plainly to its object. It is the object that

interests the mind in knowledge, not its own act. It is of

Vol. 1—5

66 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the object that it thinks. The object, therefore, and
not the act of knowledge will be our final objective end
— ^the final res appetita. But our final end is to be
attained through knowledge.* And since, as we have
said, external things are, as objects of cognition, more
fundamental in the order of nature than any internal
state, it follows that our final natural objective end
will be external.

(/3) Another objection which has been practically met
already, but to which we may here give brief but formal
mention, is that in desire we move, not strictly speaking
to an object, but rather to the attainment or possession
of an object, and the possession of an object is sub-
jective, f

We reply that the possession or attainment of a thing
is our subjective end, but the thing attained is our ob-
jective end, and the latter is prior as cause of our move-
ment. But to argue that because in desire we move to
possess an end, we therefore move to a subjective state
only, would be illogical. A stone in falling towards the
earth moves like the will to the attainment of an end,
yet no one would say that its end was a subjective
state. The end or objective of the stone is the point
to which it moves. So also the objective end of the
will, the thing which it desires to attain, may be beyond
the will. But the attainment of that object is our sub-
jective end. We now go on to consider the other goods
of the soul.

Secondly, the end of man is neither holiness, nor virtne,
nor " peace of cqnscience " % (Gizycki), nor holiness with
its attendant happiness (Kant).

Holiness signifies lightness of life. But Tightness
means that we are moving to the end, and so, it is not

• Or some of the luKlifst powers.

t Thi.s is what liradlcy scorns to mean when, having denied that
pleasure is our end, he insists tliat " in desire what we want, so far
as wc want it, is ourselves in some form, or is some state of ourselves ;
and that our wanting anything else would bo psychologically im-
possible " (" Ethical Studies," jKige ()2).

\ " Student*' Manual oi Ethical l^Lilosophy," page 84.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 67

itself the end.* And virtue is only a means to good acts,
and therefore cannot be the end. Neither is peace of
conscience our end, since it is a result of holiness, which
is a movement to the end, and, hence, presupposes the
end. And since happiness generally is not the end,
the happiness of holiness is not our end. All these goods
of the soul, are either a means to, or a result of, or
identical with goodness, and since goodness means
movement to the end, it follows that they cannot con-
stitute our end.

Thirdly, the final objective end of man is not knowledge.

This thesis we have already anticipated. We give it
prominence here because we are considering the claim
of the various states of soul to constitute our final ob-
jective end, and knowledge is the principal of these
states. The act by which we shall attain our final end
will, as we shall show later, be an act of knowledge.
But knowledge is not our final objective end — the final
res appetita — for, as we have seen, where the act of
knowledge is natural and spontaneous, the mind thinks
not of the act itself but of its object ; and, therefore, in
the case of these same natural and spontaneous acts,
our wills are borne on to desire the object and not the
act. And hence the res appetita is not knowledge, but
the object of knowledge. Again, our final objective end/
is that which we finally tend to possess, the word " pos-
sess " being used in its broadest significance. Now,
possession is of many kinds. We possess money by
holding it in our hands ; we possess friends by inter-
communion with them. Knowledge is but a species of
possession, the possession of that which we know.

" Holiness " with Kant means the love of law for its own sake.
Its attainment is supposed to require an infinite time ; for though,
according to Kant, we can and ought to wish for law for its own sake
as distinct from pleasure, yet we are always drawn by pleasure also.
To get rid of this natural attendant on human action will require, as
Kant observes, an inlinite time. Also, that adequate happiness may
I'ollow upon holiness, postulates an infinite power interested in the
moral law. These are Kant's proofs for the immortality of the soul
and for the existence of God.

68 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Hence knowledge, being onl}^ possession, is not itself
that which we finally aim at possessing.

Besides, enjoyment arises from the attainment of our
end. Now, though knowledge is a necessary condition
of enjoyment, still the enjoyment that arises in know-
ledge springs generally not from the fact that we possess
this inner state of knowledge, a state which generally
escapes our attention altogether, but from the object
itself which is known. We enjoy not our knowledge
of a thing, but the thing itself. Knowledge, therefore,
is not the end. No doubt, we can by a reflex act make
knowledge an object of our attention and gain pleasure
from our consciousness of knowledge possessed. But,
except in the case of positive reflection on knowledge,
the enjoyment of knowledge springs, not from our
consciousness of any inner act of the mind, but from
the object which is known. Hence knowledge is not
our final objective end.

Fourthly, the ejtd is not culture.

As knowledge, holiness and happiness are not our
final objective end, so neither is culture our end. It is
not that which our wills naturally and finally desire.
First, the final end of the individual is not his own
culture, because culture is an inner state, and an inner
state cannot be our final objective end. Second,
culture is a means merely — a means to the doing of
refined acts, and consequently it is not our end. And
as the culture of the individual is not our end, so neither
is our end to be found in the culture of the race.
Modem evolutionists of a certain school place the
end of individuals in the ever-increasing culture of the
race. But as culture and that which it involves, like
knowledge, good-nature, &c., as states of the individual
are not our end, neither are they as racial our end. To
adapt St. Thomas Aquinas' simple argument. If an
inner state is not the proper end of an individual ship
tlicu the projier end of a company of ships cannot be
an inner state. So we do not regard the final objective

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 69

end as a state of the individual man or of the race of
men. The culture, therefore, of the race is not our end.

All these goods of the soul, the substance of the soul,
its faculties, its habits like holiness, its acts like know-
ledge, St. Thomas excludes by one all-embracing argu
ment — they are all ordained to something beyond them
selves. The substance, faculties, and habits of the soul
are ordained to acts — they are means to acts, and, there
fore, cannot be the final end. And acts of the soul are
themselves ordained to something beyond themselves — |
namely, to their objects. The acts of the human soul
are means to the possession of objects. These acts,
therefore, cannot be the final objective end of man
They are not that which the will ultimately seeks, and
the possession of which will give it rest.

{e) The final objective end is not adjustment of inner
powers to outer environment (evolutionists).

As the final end cannot consist in any good of body
or soul, so neither can it consist in any internal good in
relation to our surroundings or in the adjustment of
inner powers to outer environment^ Adjustment or
equilibrium of our powers in reference to environment
could no more constitute our final end than the har-
monious relations of ships making for port could be the
end of each. Adjustment to conditions of environment
is, no doubt, a necessary condition of progress towards
our end, for all organisms, individual and social, pre-
suppose the harmonious working of part with part and
also harmony with their surroundings. But just as the
adjustment of one organ to another within the body is
not the end of either organ or of the two together, so
the end of man cannot be his adjustment to the social
environment.

(11.) THE TRUE FINAL OBJECTIVE END OF MAN. IT
CONSISTS OF THE INFINITE GOOD

Just as the final end of a tree must be the realisation
of its full capacities as a tree, so our final end as men

70 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

must fiU up the capacity of the will for desiring. The
conscious natural appetites hold the same place in the
human constitution that the unconscious appetites hold
in the vegetative world. But the final end of a plant
will be that which exhausts fully its appetitive capacity.
Therefore, the final end in the case of a man will likewise
be that which fully exhausts his appetites. " Nothing,"
says Aristotle, " can be our final end which still leaves
something to be desired."' Let us see, therefore, what
is that object, the possession of which alone leaves
nothing to be desired.

As the object of intellect is the true, or the true-in-
general, or being-in-general, so the natural object of the
jwill is not this or that particular good, but " good," or
the good-in-general. But nothing short of an " infinite "
can fully exhaust the possibilities of that object and of
the capacity of the will of which it is the end. There-
fore, the infinite is the final objective end of the will.
No other object can finally satisfy the will.* No matter
what finite object we may select, there will be always
objects realising different grades or kinds of good outside
of that finite object, every one of which kinds of good is
contained in the universal object " good," and every
one of which, therefore, comes within the capacity of
the will. Hence a finite object, or any number of them,
must always leave some parts of the capacity of the
will unsatisfied.! They are, therefore, not our final
end. Nay, even the combined sum of all finite objects
cannot be our end. First, because a sum of finites is
itself finite ; secondly, because, even were it infinite
as regards number, still, in the sum of finites many
individuals must be imperfect, because in any group
of jjbjccts one thing must limit another. Thus, there

• " And thus I know this earth is not my sphere
For I cannot so narrow mc but that
I Htill exceed it." — (Urowning— i'a«/j«<r).
f I'erhaps this is what Schoj)enhauer nit-aiis wl en, speaking of
our condition lir-re below, lie refiTS to man as " a burlesque of what
he should 1m; " (" Stucbes in I'rssimism," ]>agi' 24).

THE ENDS OF HUIVIAN ACTION 71

cannot be in the world an infinite amount of iron, since
some of the places that jcoiild be occupied by iron are
occupied by sand or water. In the same way, even a
combined sum of finites is imperfect, and therefore, if-
cannot fully satisfy the will ; thirdly, because the will
could not enjoy all in a single act, whereas the per-
fection of blessedness consists in the simultaneous having
of all that we desire ; fourthly, because each of these
finites has an end beyond itself. In nothing short of
the infinite, therefore, shall the will be satisfied, and.
therefore, nothing short of the infinite can be our final
end.* Whether that object be real or only a thing con-
ceived by the intellect we shall presently enquire. Our
present contention is that, real or imaginary, the infinite
good is the natural end of the appetite of will, for only
in that end can the will be set at rest.

The objective end of man — a real object.

We have now seen that the natural object of the will —
the object which alone can satisfy the natural craving
of the will— is the infinite good. We stated also that
we had yet to decide the question whether that infinite
good was only a thing imagined or conceived, or whether
it was a real object, really distinct from and outside our
intellects, as the objects that we see and feel are outside
the sense of sight and touch. This question we now
proceed to answer. But before doing so it may be well
to remark that there is another science quite distinct

* St. Thomas' succinct presentation of the above argument leaves
him open to some misconception. He argues : " Objectum volun-
tatis quae est appetitus humanus est universale bonum, ^icut objectum
intellcctus est universale verum ; ex quo patet quod nihil potest
quietare voluntalem hominis nisi bonum universale, quod non rn-
venitiir in aliquo creato sed solum in Deo " (" Summa Theol.," I.,
II*., II., Art. 8.). It will be understood, however, that just as the
object of the intellect is not the infinite but the true-in-general, so
honiim universale as object of appetite is really not bonum universale
in sense of all goods or the infinite, but bonum (or bonum-in-universali).
However, what we have said in the text holds true- — the only object
that can satisfy such a desire of the will is the infinite good. For
fuller treatment of the argument, see Cajetan's Commentary.

72 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

from Ethics— namely, Natural Theology — whose pro-
vince is to prove the reality of the infinite good, and
which puts the existence of the infinite good beyond all
doubt. We are here merely stating one argument, an
argument that arises naturally from the consideration
of the human act which is the subject of Ethics, and we
use it without prejudice to the splendid arguments of
Natural Theology. To these arguments the present one
is simply offered as a useful and interesting addition.

We go on, therefore, to show that the infinite good
is^ real—i.e., that it is not an abstraction or something
merely conceived by the mind. And we prove this pro-
position by means of a principle which is certain from
Metaphysics, but which we hope also to elucidate and
establish here — the principle, namely, that the natural
end of a real and natural thing must itself be real ; in
other words, that nature docs not act in vain* This is
an old axiom of the Aristotelian and mediaeval philo-
sophy which modern science has confirmed and illus-
trated in a thousand ways. Thus, to take one or two
examples, if it be certain that the natural end of the
heart is to send blood through the body, then, since the
heart is real, blood must also be a reality. And if food
is the natural end of the natural appetite of hunger,
then food is real. And when we say that food and blood
must be real, we do not mean that they must exist here
and now, but that either they have existed, or do, or

* This often misunderstood principle, which was so prominent a
feature in Aristotle's philosophy, does not mean that in nature every-
thing attains its final end. It was as evident to Aristotle as it is to
us that of the millions of seeds, for instance, that fall in the forest
very few attain their end. The principle moans simply that where
nature appoints an end, that end is a reality, and can, given the ])ropor
conditions, be really attained. It is curious that philosophers of such
widely different schools of thought as Aristotle and St. Thomas on
the one hand and Kant on the other should be in agreement in regard
to this principle. In Dialectic (AblK)t, page 242, text and note) Kant
explains that where a want or inclination is subjective, i.e. belongs
to the individual alone, we cannot jwstulate the reality of its object :
where it is objective or belongs to every rational being, its object
must be real. In this case, he tells us, we may a.ssumc in nature the
conditions necessary for the satisfying of sueh want.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 73

will exist, and in some place — we mean simply that
they are real, that the natural object of every natural
appetite is necessarily real. And, therefore, since the
infinite good is the ncccssaiN- natiiiil 1 ml of the appetite
of will, the infinite good is a i\al < ' jif^t aird"not an
abstraction.*

Let us examine this principle a little more fully, for
we believe it has only to be fully understood in order
to secure for itself immediate acceptance. There are
three conditions that must be fulfilled before we can say
with certainty that the object of an appetite is neces-
sarily real, all of which conditions are, indeed, implied
in the word " natural," but which yet require to be
expressly formulated. These are — (i) the appetite in
question must be an original part of our constitution,
and not something artificial ; (2) the object must be

* The reader should compare and contrast the argument here
given (a form of argument which is common in St. Thomas, and is
used by him to prove, amongst other things, the immortality of the
soul) and the modernist view of the proof for God's existence, which
latter view we condemn as, not only untrue, but as contradictory
and absurd. The modernist view is that the existence of God is not
provable intellectually, that yet we know Him to exist because of a
feeling of need for God — a feeling by means of which we are brought
into direct communication with Him and perceive Him in some way,
or feel Him, as truly, though perhaps not so clearly, as we feel many
individual objects of the sensuous world. But being perceived by
feeling only, we can only apprehend God as phenomenon. — His
noumenal or real existence, it is said, is hidden from us.

Now this modernist theory is opposed in every way to the line of
argument followed in the text. For (i) the argument given in the
text is merely used in confirmation of the other intellectual arguments
of Natural Theology, such as the argument for the necessity of a first
cause, arguments which, we maintain, establish God's existence
beyond all possibility of doubt. (2) Tlie argument in the text is
itself an intellectual argument and proof of God's real noumenal
existence. We know that the natural end of a natural appetite must
be real. And hence we argue that, since God is the end of the natural
appetite of will, He must be real. (3) Our argument does not pr"-
suppose that our intellect apprehends God immediately as it beholus
the simpler mathematical relations of whole and part immediately,
and as the senses or feelings apprehend their object immediately.
This is the view of the ontologists which St. Thomas expressly con-
demns. Our argument, following St. Thomas, is that the immediate
and formal object of intellect is being-in-general, and that of will is
good-in-general, but since God is the only thing that can fully exhaust
the capacity of these objects and of the faculties that concern them,
He is our ultimate end, and real.

74 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

essential, and, therefore, desired by each individual of
the species to which the appetite belongs ; (3) it must
be a necessary and not merely a suitable object. T(J
explain : — (i) The desire must be original in our conw
stitution like the desire for food, not artificial like thi
desire of the miser for hoarded wealth. For what w^
say is that nature does nothing in vain, but we do not
attribute such unerring realisation to the desires of the
miser or other artificial desires, which we admit are often
in vain. (2) The objects must be essential, and, so, must
be desired by each individual. Consequently, the object
of a desire or appetite is not necessarily real if it is an
object of desire only {a) under certain circumstances or
at certain times, or (6) for some men or for a particular
class of men only. Thus [a) we cannot (like the
modernists) affirm that the Christian revelation can be
shown to be genuine on this natural ground alone that
Christianity is a need, and that wherever it is discarded
men become degenerate. Christianity (if we might
borrow an illustration from revelation) was not a need
before the fall of man. It is not needed, therefore,
under all circumstances and at all times, [h) Food must
be a reality because it is a need for every man ; but we
cannot postulate the reality of bread or of any special
kind of food merely on the ground that it is desired,
since it is desired not by all men but only by some.
Again, truth in general is desired by all men, and, there-
fore, the means of knowing truth must be a reality.
But the knowledge of Mathematics or of Physics is
desired by particular classes of men only, and, there-
fore, the mere desire for or need of these does not prove
that a knowledge is possible of special sciences like
Mathematics or Physics.* The object, then, must be

• Neither can we on the mere ground of satisfying a need, postu-
late the truth of any special law of Matlu'matics or Physics. We
could not, for instance, postulate the priucii)l(' of the uiiifonnity of
nature on the mere ground that it satislics the need of "order" in
our conceptions of Physics, for this i)rinc.ii>lc biloiiKS to a special
science.

THE END^ OF HUMAN ACTION 75

a need of every individual- of the species to which the
need beiongs7"anT it must K^uain Ihc object of their
appetite under all circuinstaiu cs. (j) The object must
be necessary and not merely suitable for the satisfaction
of ah appetite. Thus, books are suItaHe^to^ahd satisfy
our desire for knowledge. But we could not on that
account alone postulate their reality, since they are not
absolutely necessary to knowledge.

All three conditions are contained in the word
" natural," and they will, therefore, be understood as
implied w^henever we use the word " natural " in con-
nection with our present question.

This explanation being given, we go on to show that
the object of a natural appetite must be real. Suppose,
therefore, that some day in the distant future we should
come across a human heart, and should come also to
know that nature had made that heart, and the valves
in it, in order to send blood through veins, we should
then be at once certain (even though we had no other
ground of certainty than this) that blood and veins were
a reality. We might not be certain that the heart had
succeeded in sending the blood through the veins, but
we should be certain that as the heart was real, blood
and veins were also real. And suppose that we found
a tooth and knew that that tooth had as its natural end
to chew food and prepare it for the stomach, then we
should be absolutely certain that, as a tooth is a reality,
so also its natural object, food and stomach, must be a
reality. The reason is that nature does not act' in vain.
For nature does not think out, as we do, her plans bit by
bit. She does not to-day produce a random object and
to-morrow determine its end. She does not first make
a heart, and then declare that a heart is good for driving
blood through a body, and then proceed to fashion the
end. It is because the end is real that she takes real means
to its accomplishment. It is because she wants the blood
to course through the body that she makes the heart.
Hence, if we discover that the means are real, we may

THE SCIENCE OF EtHlCS

logically argiie that the end is real also. Other examples
of this principle will readily suggest themselves. If,
for instance, a muscle be real, and its natural end be to
move a limb, then movable limbs must be a reality;
and if the natural pores of a tree be meant to suck up
moisture, then, seeing the pores of a tree, we should
judge with absolute security that moisture was a real
thing in nature, and not a mere imagination or abstrac-
tion of our minds.*

But the law that holds for limbs and the pores of
trees holds also for the human will. Here we have a
power of nature which extends to, the ^capacity of
which is satisfied only by, one object, viz. the
infinite good. And, therefore, we argue, since the
will and its act are real, so also is the natural end
of the will real — namely, the infinite " good." The
last end of the will, therefore, is no mere abstraction.

* " In applying this reasoning to the case of the will it is not neces-
sary to suppose that the will is a distinct faculty from the rest of the
faculties, or that it is a faculty at all, but only that man is naturally
a desiring or conative thing — that he is not like a stone which has no
desire, that we are naturally conative beings like the plant or animal
which, of itself and as a result of natural power given it, moves to
ends. Some philosophers have considered that motion and appetite
are not natural phenomena and original, but only accidental results
of knowledge. Nothing could be more opposed to all that we know
of the animal mechanism than this view. The motion of a plant
growing, and, more particularly, the desire of animals, are not an
after-cifect, or accidental, or an epiphenomenon, but an original
function ; for since animals have motor limbs adapted by nature to
respond to the desire for ends, so the desire for ends must be as natural
and original as are the limbs themselves. Most of a man's movements
are results of desires, and they are by nature meant to result from
desires, from ends perceived and wished for. We are, therefore, by
nature, desiring animals. This is the presupposition of the argument
given in the text. The theory which makes of will or conation a mere
accidental phenomenon in man is known as the theory of " hetero-
genetic " will. That which we here propound is known as the " auto-
genetic." In addition to the above argument, drawn from the
mechanism of the body, we may al.so use Leslie Stephen's argument
tliat if appetite were not an original part of the living constitution
the race of living things could not have survived a generation. With-
out the appetite for food the individual could not subsist ; without
tlie appetite ft)r racial continuance the race could not survive. A
fuller discuHsion on this subject will be given in our chai)ter on the
Good.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 77

It is no universal in mente merely. It is the real infinite
good.*

To the foregoing line of argument the following is a
possible difficulty : — the axiom on which the argument
here defended rests, namely, that the end of a real
natural appetite must necessarily be real, is an axiom
which is guaranteed to us b}'^ natural science alone.
Any argument, therefore, which rests on that axiom
must, like the axiom itself, be kept within the limits of
nature, and is valid only within these limits. But the
argument as here developed is made to extend beyond
these limits, for it is used to establish the reality of the
infinite good, which is of necessity outside of nature.
Hence the argument is invalid.

Our reply is — We grant that the axiom referred to is
guaranteed by natural science only. And, therefore,
we conclude that the only appetites to which our argu-
ment could validly be made to extend are the natural
appetites. But, granted the natural appetite, we claim
that its object is real whether that object be in the
material and natural world or outside it. However, we |
also claim that such object, even though it may lie out-
side the visible universe, is yet in some sense within

* The whole argument is just an expansion of St. Thomas', " non
est inane naturae desiderium " (Comm. on Ar. I., 16) — the itahcs are
ours.

We must here say a word on the proof offered by Cardinal Zigliara
and Father Meyer for the reality of the ultimate end. The desire for
this ultimate end, they say, is not a free desire. It is implanted in
man by nature — i.e., by God Himsefl. If that end, therefore, be
unreal, we are deceived by God — which is impossible.

Our answer is very simple. To drive us to an end which is unreal
is not necessarily deception. It would be deception if with this
impulse we had also an express declaration that the end is real. It is
we who deceive ourselves if we regard as real what may be only mental,
when there is no express declaration that the end is real. Neither
could it be considered vain or idle on God's part to direct us to an
unreal end. It would be a vain thing to drive us towards an unreal
end if, as Hartmann, speaking on the subject of the illusoriness of
the desire for happiness, very sensibly states, no purpose were served
by such an impulse. But the possible purposes of such an impulse
might be mapy. The purposes it might serve in giving, for instance,
some zp^t to life, we may leave to the reader to work out for himself.

78 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the sphere of natural science, for, though beyond this
world, it is still the natural complement to a natural
faculty. In this sense we speak of it as natural.*

Having now seen that the jiatural object of our will
is the infinite good, and having seen also that this infinite
good is not an abstract thing, a universale in mente, but
a reality, we turn to ask — What is this infinite object ?
It is none else but the uncreated good — God Himself.
As St. Thomas Aquinas puts it — " Nihil potest quietare
voluntatem hominis nisi bonum universale, quod non
invenitur in aliquo creato sed in solo Deo." There is no
other real infinity but God. Every other reality is finitCj
and even the sum of them is finite, and, consequently,
they could not be the object of perfect happiness, or the
object of our will. Of course, in desiring this infinite
good we do not, as is supposed in the theory of Ontolo-
gism, put it before ourselves in every action individually
and determinately as God. Consciously and naturally
we desire only honiim or bonum-in-universali. But the
object of that desire, the only object which will satisfy
that desire — in the words of St. Thomas, the only real
object in which this honum-in-imiversali is to be found

* Modem ethicians have shown a strange aversion to any theory
of Ethics that would place the final end of man outside of the finite
world. It should be remarked, however, first, that the ends of natural
organisms are often separated from the organism in time and in space.
The end of the plant seed is tree in fruit and flower. The end of the
faculty of vision is colour. The first end is remote in point of time,
the second in point of space. The degree of remoteness in any case
will depend on the nature of the organism. Secondly, if the end of
man has to be placed outside of the finite world it is because nature
has made us so, and we have to abide by the natural necessities.
Fortunately or unfortunately for the ethician our human will is such
that no finite object can satisfy it. In every act it aims not at this
good, but at good or bonum in universali and only the infinite can
sati.sfy fully such a desire. Thirdly, in determining distinctions of
right and wrong it will not Ix; necessary to consider any other world
than the present. As our criterion will show, we base these distinctions
on an examination of our natural constitution, i.e., our faculties and
their immediate objects. For instance, the rc'(|uirements of life and
health <lctennin(! the law in regard to eating and drinking, life and
health lx.'ing the immediate natural end of the appetite for food.
ICvcn, therefore, though the end of man lies outside this material world,
our study of good and evil is a purely natural science — it is based on
purely natural facts and principles.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 79

— is God. And, therefore, in God only shall the will

reach its end and be at rest. " Fecisti nos," says St.

Augustine, " ad Te, Domine, et inquietum est cor
nostrum donee requiescat in Te."

On the subjective final end of man or the attainment
of our last end four questions arise : —

(i) What is this subjective state — is it a faculty, a
habit, or an act ?

(2) If an act, of what faculty is it an act ?

(3) For perfect happiness is it necessary that the
exercise of our highest faculty should be accompanied
by that of the other faculties also ?

(4) Is perfect happiness attainable ?

(i) Final happiness, or the attainment of our last end,

is an act.

Faculties and habits are merely means to acts — they
are in potentia to their own acts — w'hereas our final
perfection must have nothing incomplete about it ; it
must not be mere potentia. We have eyes and the
power of vision that we may see, virtues that we may
live well, intellects that we may know. In the order of
nature " act " is the end and principle of all powers.
Unused faculties, faculties that never come into act,
are useless and have no place in nature, and naturally
they often degenerate and disappear. Man's perfect/
happiness, then, will consist in an act.

(2) Our final happiness will consist in an act, not of
the sensitive, but of the intellectual faculty.

This proposition depends on another former proposi-
tion, that the final objective end of man is the infinite

8o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

good. Now, the infinite good can be attained by intel-
lect but not by sense, and, therefore, the essential act of
our final happiness will be an act of the intellectual
faculty and not of sense. Of course, in the attainment
of the infinite the senses also must experience their
proper happiness in some way, since in the infinite is
contained the end or object of the senses as well as of
the intellect. Still, it would be a mistake to consider
the act of the senses as needed essentially in the attain-
ment of our final end. For the senses are means o.nly
to the higher knowledge of the intellect, and they~are
often little more than a hindrance to us in our intellectual
work or in the exercise of our highest and best opera-
tions. Of the delight of the senses, however, following
the attainment of our last end we shall say something
more presently.
4 Now, in man there are three kinds of intellectual
lactivities — (a) those of the speculative intellect, {b) of
Ithe practical intellect, and (c) of the will.
' But the attainment of our final end cannot be an act
of the practical intellect, for the acts of the practical
intellect are themselves a means to the work which they
subserve, and, consequently, they could not constitute
our highest perfection. Neither can it be an act of the
will. The act of the will is twofold — desire and delight.
I'he first supposes the end yet unattained, and, there-
fore, it could not constitute our final happiness,
which is the attainment of the end — consecutio finis.
The second supposes the end already attained, and
is, therefore, a consequence of the attainment of
happiness.

The essential act, therefore, which will constitute the
attainment of our last end is an act of our speculative
intellect — -an act, that is, of contemplation — as Aristotle
expresses it, ^ an act of the soul according to the best
and most perfect virtue." In the contemplation of the
last objective end, in that degree which nature makes
possible for us, lies the act of our soul according to its

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 8i

most perfect virtue.* But this act of the intellect will
be accompanied by delight of our wills [bonum concomi-
tans) in the fruition of our final end, and also by delight
in our senses in so far as sense can share in the attain-
ment of our end.

We shall now, in order to bring out more clearly this
doctrine of man's subjective final end — that the end con-
sists in the highest act of intellect — contrast St. Thomas
Aquinas' teaching with two other widely different and
well-known theories of modern philosophy — (i.) that of
Professor Paulsen and Professor Simmel, on the one
hand, that man's end consists in the " normal develop-
ment of the vital functions," as Paulsen says, and in
the " maximum of activity," as Professor Simmel says ;
and, on the other hand, (ii.) the view of Schopenhauer,
that the end of man is the nirvana. No theories could
be more opposed than that of Schopenhauer and that of
Paulsen and Professor Simmel.

(i.) According to St. Thomas our final happiness will
consist in our knowledge of the infinite, which know-
ledge will be accompanied by a corresponding delight.
According to Professor Paulsen our final end is the
normal development of our faculties. Now, this view of
Professor Paulsen is, in the first place, not very enlight-
ening, for it does not tell us what our development is t
consist in or towards what end it is directed. In th
second place it is untrue. For, first, development is not
the end of anything. A tree develops in growing. But
growing is not the end of a tree. Growth is itself a
means to the final act of the tree — its end lies in the.
final act. Secondly, the man who lives a good, rational

* Some writers would seem to insinuate that mere knowledge
could never afford us full human satisfaction no matter how great the
object. It should be remembered, however, that in the last analysis
all pleasure is based on cognition. The pleasures of taste and touch
are based on 'sense cognition or sense consciousness. The enjoyment
of anything possessed is a pleasure of cognition. What else, for
instance, is there in the enjoyment of scenery, of conversation, of
friends, except some cognitive act, an act either of intellect or of
sense ?

V'ol. 1—6

^^^ ou

82 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

life develops liis faculties normally, yet such a man has
surely not attained his ultimate end. Our ultimate end
fills up the full measure of our capacities. But no man's
will can be satisfied here below, even whilst his functions
are being normally developed. Thirdly, when we attain
to knowledge we no longer require to study. When we
reach the end of our journey we do not need any longer
to walk. So also there are some faculties that are
merely means to others, and if is not necessary that
such faculties should continue to develop or to exercise
themselves when we have attained our final end. Hence
our final end is not necessarily the normal development
of all the functions.

Professor Simmel's view * that the end of man is the
maximum of activity recalls St. Thomas' doctrine that
the subjective final end of man — that is, the attainment
of our final end — consists in an act. Now, naturally,
the knowledge of the infinite good will involve the maxi-
mum of intellectual activity. But Professor Simmel's
view makes no distinction of activity which is merely

means " and activity which is " end." But many of
our activities are means only. Hence they need not be
included in our final end. Besides, the end does not
imply the maximum of all activities, even if all remained.

e can scarcely believe, for instance, that our final end
summum bonum implies the maximum of vegetative
activity, for example, maximum digestion and maxi-
mum growth ; or the maximum of sensile activity, for
instance, the maximum of hearing or of touch ; or the
maximum of motor activity, for instance, the swiftest
movements ; or even the maximum of imagination,
which would mean fever and madness and not the
healthy activity of the enjoyment of our final end. If,
therefore, this theory of Professor Sunmel's is to be
saved from such absurdities, we must regard it as mean-

• Modern philosophers call this view, that the end consists in
activity, the theory of cncrgism. They oppose it to the Hedonistic
theory that the end is pleasure.

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 83

ing . that man's end is the maximum activity of the
highest faculty and the due and subordinate activity of
the others — and then Professor Simmel is at one with
St. Thomas, except that, first, whereas St. Thomas points
out that our highest activity consists in the attainment
of the highest and fullest object which intellect is capable
of attaining, Professor Simmel does not sa}' in what the
maximum of activity consists ; and, secondly, Professor
Simmel's view represents all the faculties as involved
in the final act, whereas we know that some of them
are only means, and that consequently they will form
no necessary part of the attainment of our final end, if
the final end can possibly be attained without them.
And it certainly can be attained without some of them.
The question whether and how far the lower senses
and passions will be needed as integral parts of happiness
will be treated presently.

(11.) Schopenhauer's theory that our end is the Nir-
vana * is the direct opposite of that of Professors Simmel
and Paulsen, f It is opposed also in the fullest way to
St. Thomas Aquinas' theory that the end of man is the
highest human activity, for the Nirvana is the absence
of all activity. Now, the Nirvana is not our natural
end, for no appetite tends naturally to its own annihila
tion or to inaction. On the contrary, all nature tenc'j
to movement and to the production of its highest a^
Nature aims at its own maintenance and development,
and if, as a matter of fact, maintenance be not secured
or if development cease, that effect is the result, not of
natural tendency from within, but of antagonistic forces
from without, and of the failure of natural conditions
within. All living things tend to live. They resist dis-
ruption. Conscious life tends to continued conscious-

* " The denial of the will to live is the way of redemption "
(" Studies in Pessimism," page 27).

t Indeed, errors in philosophy have a curious way of grouping
themselves in opposition. The philosophy of one age regards maa as
mure matter, that of another as mere mind. Not less opposed are
the views of moiiern ethicians on man's final end.

4Vi

84 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

ness, not to forgetfiilness. The Nirvana, therefore, is
not our final natural end.

(3) Does integral happiness include the exercise of all
the faculties ?

To this question Reason can give no very full and
satisfactory reply. The essential factor in perfect happi-
ness is the act of the intellect about its highest objectju
and with that act will go the delight of the will in the
attainment of its final end. But our principal difficulty
concerns the delights of the senses and the lower pas-
sions, many of which are but a means to our highest
activities here below. Will they have a place in the
enjoyment of our final end ? This is no easy question
to answer, and whatever answer we give to it can only
be of the most general kind. We can, however, say
with some security that such passions as concern the
means only by which we reach our end, and are in no
sense an end in themselves, will possibly then not be
active, for when we have reached the end of all, those
functions which could concern the means only could
serve no purpose in our constitution. But such passions
as have a worth of their own may still be active. We
shall, for instance, still enjoy friends, for even when we

ave attained our, end it will be a pleasure to have finite

inds to confer with. Some passions, therefore, may
remain, and whichever of them do remain will have to
be satisfied according to Reason. There will be the
hcatitudo concomitans as well as the cssentialis.

Again it may be that, with the attainment of the per-
fect good, imperfect goods may lose their value and
attraction for us, particularly goods of the sense world.
The vulture glutting itself with carrion, or the insect
feeding on putrid matter, derives pleasure from devour-
ing food of a kind which would produce in a human
being only a sickening sensation of disgust. In like
manner, some of those things that now seem delightful
to UB and excite the pasHion.s may, when the end is

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 85

attained, lose their attraction for us altogether, or even
become positively distasteful. It may be, therefore,
that the passions will be no longer active when we have
gained our end.

For another reason also it may be that with the at-
tainment of our end the exercise of our lower faculties
may not be necessary, for, as St. Thomas remarks, it is
quite possible that at the end we shall be able to receive
all the enjoyments of every sense and of the passions,
even without the exercise of the senses or the passions.
For even now the higher intellectual enjoyments are
found at times to work back on the senses, and to
create in them a sensuous enjoyment.* And if this
happens in the case of finite objects, it may more easily
happen in the case of such an object as the infinite, in
which the good of every sense and passion is fully con-
tained— modo eminentiori. All these things, however,
are above philosophy to a large extent, and mere Reason
can tell us very little about them.

(4) Perfect happiness attainable by matt.

A school, known as the Elpistic school of Ethicians,
have taught (and in their doctrine they are mainly
influenced by Kant) that the end of man consists in a
never-ceasing approach of Reason and the will to some
far-away ideal — an ideal which keeps always drawing us
on to its realisation, but which \'et can never be realised
in fact. The more }ou increase the sides of a polygon
inscribed in a circle the more it approaches the circle,
yec it can never become one with the circle. Certain
lines known as asymptotes keep ever approaching to
certain curves, yet can never meet them. So, it is con-
tended, it is man's fate ever to approach the ethical
ideal asymptotically ; and as the horizon flies at our

* Music, splendid oratory, or witnessing any triumphal event may
excite pleasure, not only in the senses directly concerned, but in other
senses as well.

86 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

approach, so does the end of man, his final blessedness
or goodness or happiness, whatever it is, keep always
departing from him. " Hope springs eternal," yet hope
shall never be converted into fruition. Hope it must
always remain. This theory has been developed by
Kant, Spencer, Green, and many others, and against it
the present argument is directed.

• St. Thomas treats of this question, whether perfect
happiness is actually attainable, very briefly and suc-
cinctly indeed. He tells us that perfect happiness is
attainable because we have by nature the capacity of
perfect happiness — i.e., we are able to desire it and do
naturally desire it. His argument may be expanded thus —
the desire for perfect happiness is not an accidental
growth in man. It is a ■nntural.-capad.ty, a natural
desire. It must , therefore. Jbe capable of fulfilment .
Why ? Because nature does not act in vain. When
men set ends before themselves, these ends are not
always possible of attainment. But nature cannot so
fail. If the end or capacity of a tree be to bloom, then
blooming is an attainable perfection — a something to
which the tree, if properly nursed and properly directed,
may come. Individual trees may, indeed, fail to bloom,
for nature may be crossed in many ways, and so our
present thesis is, not that every man will gain the end,
but only that the end is attainable. Whether the
individual trees attain their end depends altogether on
the chances they get. But " to bloom " is an atfain-
able end, and many trees will dc facto succeed in reaching
it. The reason is that with nature the end is first and
before all, and the principle of all. It is the cause of
the means and it is only because of its reality and in
order that it may be attained that the means are brought
into existence. To blossom and bear fruit — that is the
first thing in nature's plan ; and because that end is
attainable, therefore is the tree provided with roots,
bark, arteries, capacities — with all, in fact, that it is and
all that brings it to its natural perfection. It is so also

THE ENDS OF HUMAN ACTION 87

with man. We have not directed ourselves to perfect
happiness — to the attainment of the infinite good ;
nature has directed us to it and given us a capacity for
it, just as nature has given to the tree the capacity to
flower. The appetite for the infinite good belongs to
our very essence, and there is no escaping from it. Per-
fect happiness, we conclude, is, therefore, attainable by
man. If all the requisites of nature are fulfilled the
tree will bloom. If all the requisites of human nature
are fulii]lg.d by us and all the natural laws are observed,*
then will a man reach his final natural end. If not, he
fajls^

But where is this perfect happiness realisable ? f

* We speak here according to Reason only. The higher laws may
demand more of us than nature demands, because, as a matter of
fact, we know from revelation that in the end we shall have more
than natural happiness.

t A word on this question of how we shall enjoy God. It is plain,
as we have said, that our final happiness is not to be had in this world
What better opportunities we shall have for contemplating and study-
ing God in another world, philosophy cannot tell us. It is certain,
however, that the vision of the soul will be much clearer and stronger
when we have escaped from the material conditions of this life than it
is now. Here everything distracts us instead of centering round our
final end, and leading us on to Him. When we are in possession of
the end, not only shall we know Him, but we shall see all things in
their true perspective as leading up to Him.

In speaking thus we are not encroaching on revelation. The
knowledge of God of which we have spoken is, as we have proved,
attainable in the order of nature, though not in this world. It is still
natural knowledge — i.e., knowledge got by abstraction from creatures.
From all that we have known here and from all that we shall see in
the next world we shall rise to the knowledge of God. This means
that we shall still know Him by an act of our ordinary Reason, but
perfectly according to Reason. Reason does not tell us more than
this. Revelation, however, goes farther and declares to us that for
the knowledge of God of which nature holds out hope to man, there
will be substituted a higher knowledge altogether — viz., that of the
beatific vision, the vision of God seen face to face, seen in Himself,
directly and personally. Knowledge by abstraction is possible to our
natural faculties. But the beatific vision or the knowledge of God
seen " face to face " is out of the reach of nature and of Reason alto-
gether. It consists in the indwelling of God Himself in our intellects
and in our seeing Him by means of Himself. Of this state or act
our natural Reason can know absolutely nothing apart from revelation,
and not being the object of any natural science it lies outside the
trovince of Ethics. But, by Reason we know what Aristotle knew
phat the supreme happiness of man is to be found in the act of the
highest faculty, according to Reason, in a perfect natural life. We

88 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Plainly not in this life. Do what we may here, we
cannot be perfectly happy. And if not realisable in
this world, what then ? Plainly in another. If not in
winter, then in summer. If not on stony ground, then
in the better soil. If not here and now, then elsewhere
and hereafter. It is the same in all departments of
nature — with the trees and with man. Nature has
many seasons and man}^ places. To limit her purposes
and her powers to one place or time would be to take a
very limited view of her extent and her powers.*

know from Ethics what the act and faculty in question are, and we
know some of the conditions of the perfect natural life — they are
different from life as we actually find it.

* All that we have said in the present section on the possibility
of attaining our final natural end becomes clearer and more cogent
still on the supposition of a Creator and of Divine Providence.

At the end of this chapter it may not be out of place to anticipate
something of what will be said in our chapter on " the criterion," in
order to explain what actions will lead to our fmal end— a question
which will already have occurred to most readers. Speaking according
to mere Reason we can say with certainty that just as a plant tends
to its final perfection in summer by having its natural wants supplied
before the summer arrives, so, by the perfect fulfilment of nature's
laws here below man tends naturally to attain his final perfection in
the place and under the conditions in which that perfection shall
become possible. What those laws are will be explained in our
chapters on " The Criterion " and " On Laws."

CHAPTER IV I
ON GOOD AND EVIL V
{a) Meaning of Good

(r) Taken in its broadest and most generic accepta-
tion, we may defme the "j?oo(jJl with St. Thomas
Aquinas as " the object or end of app)etitc," and with

Aristotle — o? X"P"' Ta AoiTra TTptiTTCTai ... to TeAo<i —

th^_£nd for which anYthing_is done. Were there in
the world no such thing as ag^iine* there would be no
such distinction as that of " good " and " evil," just as
if there were no intellect in the world there could be no
truth. But in various objects there are various appe-
tites or JLendencies, and what satisfies these yniions
appetites we speak of as good ; what opposes them we
describe as "eviTj also what leads to the ends of the
appetites^x is„.a.rneans to them *is~gbod'," and what~teads
away from them is evil. Thus We caira~1cniTe"good if
it cutsTbecause that is the end we wish it to fulfil. We
call medicine good because it cures, and we call curing
good because health is something that men desire.

The gQod^tlien, is defined__by refererirp in nppptifp
It is the object or end of appetite.*

Now, sometimes there are, even in the one being, a
great number of appetites, and it is even possible that
these may be in partial conflict w'ith one another — that

* It may be well to tell the reader at this point that the moral
good is simDhLikinorQ specific determinatirfp of ihi'i p«m«ral conception
ofjhc " good . ' ' The mpral t^oofl is any act wlij^-.h is direr.t^fj, ]iy Rpa«;np
to the final eml^tng end which fully satisfies our appetitive capacity,
afTcPwhich therefore cannot serve a^ a mere means to something else.
This is not only St. Thomas' view, but the view of most modern
ethicians. " Morality," says Bradley, " implies an end in itself "
(" Ethical Studies," page 60).

90 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

is, that the same object which will satisfy one appetite
will prevent the satisfaction of another. For instance,
the same food that will satisfy the appetite of the palate
will often hinder the attainment or preservation of that
which is more desired than the pleasures of the palate —
namely, our health and life. In such cases it is often
not easy to say whether the object that gives rise to
such diverse effects should be called good. The obvious
■I rule to be followed is that the wider appetite, or the
/appetite corresponding to the farther off end, should
/ take precedence, and that the " good " should be de-
/ termined by reference to it. For the nearer and narrower
end is always conceived as mere means to the wider and
more remote, as is evident from the case given of foods,
which at the same time please the palate and injure our
life. Such an object could not be regarded as good, for
it conflicts with the wider and more fundamental appe-
tite— that, namely, for our life. In the same way many
adtB, though they satisfy particular appetites, are op-
posed to our appetite for the final end — and in no cir-
I cumstances could an object that leads us from the at-
l/tainment of our final end be good. For in relation to
the final end every other particular object is qi£iiiis only,
and, no matter what the pleasure that attaches to their
attainment, it would be irrational to speak of them as
good if they keep us from attaining our final end. All
this, however, in no way conflicts with our opening
statement that the " good " is the object of appetite.*
On the contrary, what we have just said confirms and
explains our definition of the good, for the principal end
is the final end, and an object that opposes the principal
end ceases to be a real or true end. " We call that
/ simply an end (aTrAws ^v t«A«ioi')," saj's Aristotle,
" which is desirable of itself and not for something else,"

• This i« Aristotle's definition — " Bonum est quod omnia apiictiml,"
by which is moant not what everything seeks, but, as St. Thomas
explains (" S. Thcol.," I., y. VI., Art. 2), what anything seeks, ur
any object that is sought,

GOOD AND EVIL 91

i.e., the final end. What opposes it is not a real end or
good.

But it is not to be considered, since goodness is that
in an object which makes it conformable to appetite,
that, therefore, the goodness of objects is an arbitrary/ /'
relation which depends on the passing and changeable/
desires of the human will. We shall see presently that
there are some things which a man w«s^__desire,. —
since there are in man natural appetites with natural
objects. These objects wiTTbe permanently and neces-
sarily good.

Now, objects of appetite are of two kinds. They are
either such as are desired as J3ieiins.,only to something
else, or they are such as are desired on^^tkeirjnvn account
as affording satisfaction of themselves. TheionTOfwe
speak of as bonunt utile. The latter are distinguished
into two classes. The end of appetite is either that
state of contentment which ensues in_ the nppptitp on
the attainmenFol an obiectdesired, or it is the object
Itself whose altammenF^ings to__the appetite satisfac-
tjon. The former we speak of as honum delectabile, the
latter as honum ho7testum. All ends of action reduce to
these three classes of end or good, which, however, are
not all of equal im.portance to the will. Of the bonunt
delcdabile and bonum honestum the latter — that is, the
bonum honestum — is primary, as we proved in our last
chapter. Next in order of importance comes the bonum
delcctabile. The bonum utile is, strictly speaking, not
an end of appetite at all since in itself it does not give
satisfaction. It is an end, only in the sense of being
desired ; and, therefore, in the order of nature it is the
least fundamental of all. We now proceed to a more
specific determination of this general conception of
"good."

(2) " Good " and " beinq " {esse, i.e., actuality) are

one.

Good and being are one because (i.) all good is beinp^,

92 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

and (ii.) all beinp; is^^togd. and it is good in so far as it
is being.

(i.) That-^ all goodjs beingj^ needs rio proof. If it is
not_ being JL-is nothing, ^and " nothinsili— cour^" iiot
possibly ..JDe_J±e-..j3bie£t__af__,appetite. A tendency to
nothing is no tendency. Hence all good is being,
(ii.) But that " all being is good " is established as
follows : — Every object_cliiigs to * its own being — that
is, it resists disruption or a^unihilajLion., A diamond, a
plant, and aii "ammar all tend to remain in being — that
is, they resist destruction. If they did not cling to their
own being there would be no sufficient natural reason
why they should continue in existence once they are
produced, or why they should continue to exist in this
or that species once they are produced in a certain

* " Ratio enim boni in hoc consistit quod aliquid sit appetibile . . .
manifestum est autem quod unumquodque est appetibile secundum
quod est perfectum nam omnia appetunt suam perfectfionem. In
tantum est autem perfectum unumquodque in quantum est actu.
Unde manifestum est quod in tantum est aliquid bonum in quantum
est ens ; esse enim est actualitas omnis rei " (St. Thomas, " S. Theol."
I-) Q- v., Art. i). Again, St. Thomas says — " Bonum non addit
aliquid supra ens sed rationem tantum appctibilis et perfcctionis quod
convenit ipsi esse in quacumque natura sit " (I., Q. V., Art. 3).

Again, St. Thomas writes, " De Vcritate," Q. XXI., Art. 2 — " Cum
ratio boni in hoc consistat quod aliquid sit pcrfcctivum alterius per
modum finis ; omne id quod invenitur habere rationem finis habot ct
rationem boni. Duo autem sunt de ratione finis, ut sc. sit appelitum
vcl desideratum ab his quae finem nondum attingunt aut sit delectum
et quasi delectabile ab his quae finem participant ; cum ejusdcm
rationis est tendere in finem et in fine quodammodo quiesccre. . . .
Hacc autem duo invcniuntur competcre ipsi esse. Quae enim esse
nondum participant, in esse, quodam naturali appctitu, tendunt ;
Omnia autem quae jam esse habent illud esse suum naturaliter amant
ct ipsum tota virtute conservant. . . . Ipsum igitur esse habet ratio-
nem lx)ni. Unde sicut impo.s.sibile est quod sit aliquod ens quod non
habeat cs.sc, ita neccsse est quod omne ens sit bonum ex hoc ipso quod
esse habet. . . . Cum autem Ix^num rationem entis inchidat. . . im-
pos.sibile est aliquid esse lx)num quod non .sit ens ; ct ita rclinquitur
quod Ix>num ct ens convertuntur."

This doctrine that everything tends to the conservation of its own
being is taught expressly by many modem philosophers. Of living
things C8p<'cially (liey make this as.sertion. Thus M. Guyau writes —
" La tendance a per.s6vd'rer dans la vie est la loi n6ces.sairc de la vie,
non sculcmcnt die/ I'liomme mais chcz tous les ftrcs vivants." But
the very same force that makes the plant resist the destruction of its
life makes even an inorganic substance resist disruption of its being —
this force attaches to every being.

GOOD AND EVIL 93

species. Hence all being is the. pbject_ofji2gfijLiie-(M"- of
tendency, at least -to tlie' thing itself which is actualised,
which has the being in question ; and since that is good
which is the object of appetite, it follows that all beine; x^'
is good in so far as it has actuality or actual being. U

(3) The good is as such an attribute of reality {bonum
est in rebus).*

We now come to a third point in our determination
of the " good " — the good is as such an attribute of
reality. Whereas the " true " exists in and belongs
primarily to mind, the " good," on the other hand,
essentially includes a reference to real existence, since
actuality is the principle of good in all being.

No object, therefore, is good or can become an object
of desire except in so far as it either has or is supposed
to have actuality. An economist is perfect intellectually
who can deal properly with money in idea. But if he
desires money he desires it, not as existing in idea but
as existing in act — as actual or real. Therefore, only as
real, as actual, can a thing become an end of desire
Actual being, therefore — being in real existence— is the
universal form of all objects of appetite, and, therefore(^/'
of all good.

(4) " Good " is fulness of being.

Though " good " and " being " are one, yet not
evefythffrgThat has~being, "oF^tuality^ thereHy good
sim'pty~~dnd abJbJuleJy'. A horse may have good sight,
good KearThg^^fhaf~is, it may be good with a qualifica-
tion (as St. Thomas says), but it is not simply or abso-
lutely good— i.e., it is not a good horse unless it has all
the being that is naturally due to a horse. Foi: all ob-
jects naturally seek the perfection that is proper to their
nature, and if they do not come toTheir propeFperfec-

* " Terminus appetitus quod est bonum est in appetibili ; sed
terminus cognitionis quod est verum est in ipso intellectu " (" S.
TheoL," I., (^. XVI., Art. i).

04 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tion it is because nature has been prevented from
achieving the end which, given the proper conditions,
they would achieve. The good of an object, therefore,
is its natural perfection. This we call fulness of being.
A thing, then, has fulness of being and is absolutely
good when it has all the natural parts, and all up to
nature's standard.* But if anything is wanting in any
of those parts that are naturally due to it, the thing is
bad. To be bad it is not necessary that everything in
an object should be bad. It is enough if there be
any falling short of the right standard. If complete
absence of good were necessary before we could speak
of an object as bad, it would be impossible that we
I should ever speak of a bad object, for in every kind of
// object there must be some good, some actuality. Hence,
whereas in respect of degrees of goodness, goodness is
of two kinds — relative and absolute— a bad object, on
the other hand, can never be corhpletely bad, and
consequently we have given the full lyieaning of badness
when we say that an object is bad or falls short of the
natural standard in any degree ; and for that reason
we speak of anything in which there is some want as
bad (simply and without qualification), whereas before
we speak of anything as good (simply and without
qualification) we require that it be all good. A lame

/horse may have good sight, but it is a bad horse ; it
may be good with a qualification, but we do not speak
of it as good simply — as a good horse — on the contrary,
we speak of it as a bad horse because it has not its
natural fulness of being. Hence the formula, " Bonum
ex Integra causa — malum ex quocumque defectu."
S>/Hiiman good is fulness of human being. As we have
said, a being, to be good, must have all its natural parts

• More would not be good. We do not look for beautiful plumage
in a horse, nor for the strength of a stallion in the dove.
" Ih the creature too imperfect, say ?
Would you mend it
And so end it
Since not all addition perfects aye ? " — Browning.

GOOD AND EVIL 95

and all up to nature's standard. A human person,
therefore, to be good must have all the parts that
belong naturally to a human being, and all up to
nature's standard. But " parts " are of many kinds.
There are integral parts — e.g., hands, feet, and head —
ind there are potential parts, or faculties. All these
parts, integral and potential, are necessary to the per-
fect man.

Now, of these goods, some are given to man by nature
herself from the beginning — for instance, hands and feet
— while some are acquired by operation. But of these
latter, some are acquired by the operation of nature,
and are not under man's control — e.g., the digestion of
food — whilst others are acquired by man's own effort
and activity, e.g., eating, reading, the acquirement of
learning. Now of these three classes of goods the first
two have no right to be regarded as part of the subject-
matter of Ethics. Ethics is the science of human con-
duct, and it treats of those goods that are won by our
activities — that is, the attainment of which is under our
control. Ethics has nothing to do with the goods
which nature gives us, or with other goods in so far as
their maintenance depends upon the operation of nature.
It has to do with the human act as controlled by us, or
with what is acquired by human effort. Only such
things are morally good.

(5) The goodness or fulness of being of the human act
depends principally upon its object or end.

All the faculties of man relate to objects or ends,
either external or internal. Their use consists in the
attainment of their objects — their right use or the ful-
ness of being proper to the human act, consists in the
attainment of the right or proper objects or ends. And
when we speak of the end it must not be thought that

♦ "S. Thcol.," I., II., Q. XVIII., Art. 2.

96 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

we refer exclusively to the remote purpose of our act.
By end we here mean any object on which is engaged
any faculty employed in our act. In a single act these
may be many and various. In stealing, for instance, the
object of the external act is another man's money. The
object of the internal act of the will includes both this
and any further purpose at which we aim in stealing
{finis operantis). All these are objects and designate
our act. Considering the external element of taking
money our act is one of stealing : considering the purely
internal element it is one of avarice or hatred or some-
thing else. Usually, however, in designating the object
of the human act it is to the internal desire as externated
that we chiefly refer and that to which it refers is spoken
of as object ; our further purely internal purpose is
called the end. In the present paragraph, however, we
speak of object and end indifferently — as anything to
which a faculty is directed. In this sense we say that
the object or end specifies the act.*

But though the goodness of conduct consists essen-
tially in its end, there are other elements in conduct
which contribute to its goodness — viz., the circumstances
of conduct. An act may want " due quantity according
to Reason, due place, or anything of that sort," and an
act is good or evil by reference to all these things.
However, it is worthy of remark that it is the end that
determines the proper circumstances, just as it is the
ends which a man wishes to gain that determine whether
a movement ought to be fast or slow. And so we say
that the fulness of being of a human action is determined
by its end.

* The conception of moral goodness is thus seen to be a develop-
ment from that of metaphysical goodness or goodness as identical
with being. The series of conceptions given in the text may be briefly
represented as follows : — the good as being, as fulness of being, as
fulness of natural being, as fulness of natural human being : the
moral good will consist of fulness of such part of our natural human
being as is acquired by human ellort and controlled by Keason and
what is natural in it will be determined chiefly by the natural objects
oi our faculties.

GOOD AND EVIL 97

(6) The good of human conduct is determined by the

final end.

A movement or tendency may have many ends, ac
when a man desires to get m.oney in order to help the
poor, so that by helping the poor he may acquire a good
name. But the dominant end of anything is its final
end. Consequently, as we pointed out in the beginning
of this chapter, that conduct which does not lead us to
our final end is a failure and bad, no matter what inter-
mediate ends we may succeed in attaining by means of
it. Since, therefore, moral science treats of the goodness
or badness of human conduct, and since the principal
goodness or fulness of being that is proper to a human
act is its direction to the end, and since the final end is
the end [Tf-KuoraTov rovrm), we may define a good
moral action as " action done under the control of
'Reason and leading to man's final end." ♦

(6) Of the Moral Determinants — or of those
Things that make an Act Good or Evil

Let us on account of its importance, resume what we
said in our last section on the different elements con-
tributing to morality in the human act. 7^£ moral
determinants of an action are all those tjungs that go^to
make ajLaction good or evil, better or worse. The prin-

cipal moral determinants enumerated by the scholastics)
are three — tjie object, f the end^ and the circumstancegjL

• We repeat, however, our statement already made and which
will be proved later, that it is through an examination of our natural
constitution that we determine what acts are suitable and lead to
the final end.

I By " object " here we mean the object of the action — that is,
of the whole action which, we here assume, is an external act. By
" end " here is meant the finis operantis, or the purpose which we
wish to accomplish by our act. Both of these are included in what
was before spoken of as " the end of the will " which we identified
with the good, for the will takes in the whole thing desired, including,
therefore, both object and that to whigh our action is meant finally
to lead {finis operantis).

Vol. 1—7

98 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

These determinants may be more easily understood from
an example than by their definition. We shall take as
our example the case of a complete human act having
an inner and an outer element. In murder the act
whose morality is in question is the act of killing. The
object — that is, the formal moral object of this act — is a
person over whom I have no authority — someone who
is not subject to me. The circumstances are that I do
the deed at such a time, place, &c. The end is that
which I purpose gaining by the act — for instance, satis-
faction for some wrong or the obtaining of money.

The object is the specifically moral factor in all acts.
It is that which specifies the act, which gives it a name
and puts it in a class. Thus to destroy the life of another
is homicide. To take the goods of another is stealing —
that is, these acts are put by their respective objects into
a particular moral species, to which we attach a par-
ticular name. It is with the consideration of the objects
of acts, therefore, that the Science of Ethics is princi-
pally concerned. For it is through the consideration of
objects that the code of general laws is Qonstructed.
which to Ethics are what the general physical laws are
to Physics. \

Now, if the object of an act is bad the act itself is
bad ; but if the object is good the act may still not be
good, for we have still to consider the circumstances
and the end or the finis operantis.

The circumstances. In every individual act, besides
the specific moral character which depends on object,
there is also an individual moral character which de-
pends on circumstances. Thus, it is worse to murder
one's father than to murder a stranger, and worse to
steal ten pounds than five. Now, an act should be
good not only in its object but in its circumstances.
For morality denotes, as we have already seen, a
certain fulness of being, and to have fulness of being
means, not merely to be in a certain species, but to have
suitable individual characteristics as well. So the

GOOD AND EVIL 99

individual moral act has its circumstances as well as its
object, which should all be good. Still, not every cir-
cumstance counts in the morality of the act. And of
those that do count some only increase or diminish the
morality, as in the examples given, whilst others add on
a specifically new moral relation to that which results
from the object. Thus to steal six pounds is only worse
than to steal five ; but to kill a father is not only homi-
cide but patricide. The fact that this is one's father
adds on a specifically new crime.*

How the circumstances affect the morality of an act.

The circumstances give rise to a twofold law in action :
(a) first, a negative law — there must be no bad circum-
stance ; (b) second, a positive law — every circumstance
that is necessary for the due performance of the act —
that is, for the attainment of the natural end of action
— must be present, else the act is not good. Now, in
regard to this second point, it is to be noted that some-
times the attainment of the natural end of an act does
not depend wholly on that which the agoit does, nor
does it follow immediately on the performance of his
action, but requires along with the action of the agent
a subsequent process also with which the agent has
nothing to do, and which depends altogether on nature.
Now, in such cases, provided that all the circumstances
necessary for the due performance of our own share of
the act are present, the act is lawful, and it is lawful
even though nature should afterwards fail in the work
proper to her, thus preventing the accomplishment of
the natural end. Thus the use of matrimony is lawful
even though one of the parties happens to be sterile.
The natural end fails to be accomplished. ,-'fiut for that
the parties are not responsible.

* The scholastics give the following rough enumeration ot the
principal determinants — quis, quid (the effect), ubi, qitibus auxiliis,
cur, qitomodo, quando.

TOO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

The end aimed at {finis opcrantis *) is the original
source of the whole act, for the act that we do, with
its object and its circumstances, is nothing more than
means to the realisation of the end aimed at. And as
a man intends the end more than the means, so the
end is in one sense the principal moral element in the
act. Still the object and circumstances have their own
morality apart from the end aimed at, and unless the
object and circumstances are good the act is bad in
spite of the fact that the end aimed at may be most
praiseworthy. This is expressed by sa3'ing that the
end does not justify the means. By the means we wish
to signify all that we do in order to attain our end. A
good end could not justify an act or a means which is
in itself bad.

Hence to take a bad means to a bad end is to commit
two crimes, whilst to take a bad means to a good end or
a good means to a bad end is one crime.

NOTE ON THE QUESTION OF MOR.ALLY INDIFFERENT ACTS

A question of very great importance in the Science of
Ethics is whether there can be such a thing as a morally
indifferent act, or whether all deliberate human acts are
either morally good or morally bad. Some, with Scotus,
maintain that acts may be indifferent, and not only in specie,
t.e., considered in the abstract, or apart from the individual
circumstances, but also in individuo, or having regard to
the circumstances also. St. Thomas Aquinas, on the other
hand, contends that whereas in specie an act may be
indifferent, in individuo it cannot be indifferent but must
be either morally good or bad. This latter is the view which
commends itself to us, and we shall devote the present text-
note to establishing its truth. >. i^^.

That acts may be morally indifferent considcrccl'tn specie,
or apart from the individual circumstances, is self-evident,
and, so far as we are aware, is also undisputed. To lift up a
stone from the earth, to look around, to move the finger,
arc in thetnsi-lves ncithcT good nor evil, for, in themselves,

• The end aimed at, though part of the object of the inner will, is
the principal circumstance in relation to the external act. Thus the
end aimed at (for instance, riches or rovcngc) is a circumstance of the
act of stealing.

GOOD AND EVIL loi

they neither help nor retard one's perfection in any way.
Such acts may be either good or bad/according to the cir-
cumstances in, and particular!}' the /intention with which
we do them.

Our teaching in regard to the indi-Oidual act will be divided
into two parts. We shall show {a) that without considering
the end aimed at by the agent, and attending merely to the
object and other circumstances, the individual act is nearly
always either good or bad ; (6) that when the end aimed at
is taken into account, the individual act is seen to be nlivays
either good or bad — it can never be indilfcrent.*

(a) Every human act involves the exercise of a man's
inner powers, physical and mental, and every exercise of
the inner powers of an organism affects that organism well
or ill in relation to its natural perfection. Anything, e.g.,
that affects the nutritive action of a tree in any way, affects
it for good or evil. Anything that accelerates or retards
the circulation of the blood either impairs or benefits the
animal in some way. So also man is affected well or ill by
each human act.f In the cases just mentioned not every
element present may affect the organism well or ill, but
sometliing will practically always be present, as we know
from experience, so to affect it.

The following calculation may give us a clearer notion of
the same conclusion, and perhaps also the reason why it is
so difficult to perform an act which will be purely indifferent.
If each of the circumstances that go to make up the act and
also the object of the act may be either good, bad or indifferent,
the chances are very small that all together will belong to
the indifferent category. If there are seven circumstances
the chance that they and the object will be indifferent is
represented by the fraction " one " divided by " tfiree to
the power eight," which is a very small chance indeed.
Now whereas an act is bad if any element in it is bad, and
good if there is one good element provided all the others are
at least indifferent, + to be morally indifferent an act should

* The distinction between ' a ' and ' b ' above is suggested by St.
Thomas' words : " oportet quod quilibet actus habet aliquam cir-
cumstantiam per quam trahatur ad bonum vel malum, ad minus
(italics ours) ex parte intentionis finis."

t Acts that relate to Society are as little likely to be indifferent
as those that affect indivitluals. We can scarcely imagine any bill
passing into law that would not benefit or injure society in some way.

X An act may be good in spite of innumerable indifferent elements.
If everything in a good act should be good a good act would be im-
possible since in every good act there are some indifferent circumstances.

102 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

be indifferent in every particular. And therefore very few
acts can be morally indifferent.

(6) Let us now take up the second point of view that,
viz., of the end aimed at. Taking this element into account
it becomes clear that not only nearly every act but every
act, provided it is deliberate, is either morally good or bad,
and that therefore none can be indifferent. An act that
is indifferent in its circumstances and its object will, we
claim, be made good by at least one element, an element
that is present in every act, viz., that it is directed by the
will to the final end. Any act is morally good which is
deliberate, and which leads to the final end. Now, we are
at present considering only deliberate acts and we know that
the will must always desire the final end, i.e., it is necessitated
by its own inner nature to desire this end. What is sought
is sought as leading to the final end. Provided therefore
that there is no bad element in the act, that all else is in-
different, this direction of our act to the final end suffices
of itself to confer on it the character of goodness, and makes
of an act otherwise morally indifferent a morally good act.
" The mere fact," * writes St. Thomas, " that we refer a

* " S. Theol." I. II* xix. 7, " ordo ad finem consideratur ut ratio
quaedam bonitatis ipsius voliti."

Two difficulties have to be considered here (a) in a bad act the
will tends to the final end ; yet the act is not thereby rendered good.
Why should the same tendency of the will render an act good which
is otherwise indifferent.

We reply, first, the direction of the will to the final end is an element
of goodness even in a bad act. There is no act that is wholly bad.
Such direction of the will must also constitute an clement of goodness
in the case of an act otherwise indifferent. On the other hand this
element of goodness does not bring a bad act into the category of
good acts, since an act is bad if it contains any bad element, whereas
it can bring an act otherwise indifferent into the category of good
acts because for goodness one good clement suffices provided there is
no bad element.

Secondly, the bad element in a bad act fnistrates the effort of the
will to refer it to the final end — the bad element is simply non-reieniMe.
We shall explain by mcins of an analogy. Any indiflerent si,i;ii or
act, e.g. touching the hat may be made a means of friendly salutation
provided we direct it to that end (C)rdo ad finem etc., as above). But
no intention of ours could make a blow in the face an act of friendly
salutation. The unfriendly element intrinsic to such an act would
frustrate the intention of our will. So, the bad element in a bad act
frustrates the will's effort to diri-rt it to the final end. This is not
the case with an act containing no bad element.

(h) The s<!Cond dKlficuKy is tin? following — to be morally good an
act should Ixr free ; but the only good element in the act referred to
in i\ur U'xt is not free. The desin- of the will for the (inal end is not
free. Therefore an act indifferent in every other resj)ect though

GOOD AND EVIL 103

thing desired to some (good) end confers upon that thing a
certain goodness ; as, for instance, if a man were to fast in
God's honour (propter Deum) his fast would become through
this very fact (ex hoc ipso) a good thing." But the ultimate
end is par excellence the good end. Every act therefore in
which there is no evil element becomes a good act by virtue
of its being done for the final end."

But though we have said that apparently indifferent acts
like lifting a straw or moving one's finger are made good at
least by their being directed to the final end, we wish it to
be understood that we are far from claiming that this is
their only title to goodness. On the contrary, such trifling
acts as lifting a straw are good, as a rule, on another title
also — that, viz., of the proximate end aimed at {finis operantis),
which end is often no other than the object of some funda-
mental natural appetite. These appetites and their deriva-
tives are very many : they often move us to act ; and their
ends often constitute the true purpose of what we do, even
when we are not aware that any such motive is present.
In other words when a man lifts a straw from the ground he
does so, not for nothing, but either for exercise or from
curiosity {i.e., for knowledge), or to escape the ennui of
inactivity, etc., all of which are either objects of natural
appetites, or derivatives from them. The act is prompted
by and satisfies some natural appetite, and, the end of these
appetites being natural, the act which promotes them is
good. " Even the most trifling acts," says St. Thomas,
" though not ordained to any extrinsic end are yet ordained
to the good of the individual inasmuch as they delight him
and satisfy his desires (sunt requiem praestantes)," *

If. however, there are some acts which are wanting in

rendered good by one's desire for the final end, cannot through this
fact be rendered morally good. We answer^ — an act which is in itself
free can be taken out of the indifferent category and made good by
any good circumstance, that is any circumstance that helps to our
natural perfection even though such circumstance be not free. In
fact it is very rarely that these circumstances though contributing much
to the goodness of the human ret are free. An act is brought into the
moral sphere, i.e. is capable of becoming either morally good or morally
bad if it is itself free ; and, if such an act is made to promote our
natural perfection through the presence of any circumstance, whether
this circumstance is free or not, our act is brought into the category
of good acts thereby, just as freely falling in battle is not only patriotic
but meritorious even though the love of country which inspires our
act is not free but a necessary and irresistible habit of our will.

* " S. Theol.," I. 11=^. I. 6. It is the objects of appetite that bring
it to rest [requiem praestantes).

104 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

such motives as \vc have just mentioned, even these acts
are caught up by our ever-present desire for the final end,
and if, otherwise without evil, arc made good by that desire.*

Having shown that the goodness of the human act
is its tendency to the objects of the appetites, we now
go on to show. that there is a natural distinction of good
and evil, that good and evil are not arbitrary, that they
do not change according to our passing whims and
desires, that some things are always good, and some
always evil. Our proof of this proposition must mani-
festly consist in showing that man is possessed of certain
permanent natural appetites, of appetites that are not
of his own making but belong inseparably to his human
nature as heart and head and hands belong to his
physical constitution. If we shall succeed in establish-
ing the existence of natural appetites in man with I
natural objects, we shall also have succeeded in estab-
lishing the existence of natural moral distinctions.

Now,t before proceeding to discuss this question of
the existence in man of natural appetites, it may be
useful to enquire why some ethicians, whilst admitting
that man is possessed of natural capacities and appetites,
still refuse to recognise the existence of a natural dis-
tinction of moral good and evil. The reason, it seems

• Thus the same bountiful economy of nature which is observable
in the physical world is found to extend to the moral as well. Nature
will herself brinj^ the plant to perfection if no impediment is placed to
her work. In the same way every human act is made to lead to our
final end provided no impediment is placed in nature's way.

f Wc are here dealin^^ with one of the mo.st important problems
of ethical science The theory that there are no natural distinctions
of good and evil has been variously expres.sed. Sometimes it is claimed
that good and evil are mere imagination, .as in the phra.se ; — nothin;^
is good or bad but our inuiKination makes it so. .Mmost identical
with this theory is tlie vi<'w that all morality is relative to the individual,
as in Albany's remark (in King Lear) " wisdom and goodness to the
vile seem vile." So also wc have " to the pure mind everything is
pure."

GOOD AND EVIL 105

to us, is that many philosophers who are not of the
Aristotehan tradition have been accustomed to regard
the " moral good " as something quite distinct from
objects of natural appetition, as something mystical and
ethereal, as an ideal rather than a reality of our human
nature ; and so morality comes to be identified rather
with the suppression of desire than with its exercise,
with the restrictions imposed by external admonition
and law rather than with ordinary human liking and
disliking.

Now, this is not the view of moral goodness adopted
in the present work, and we have shown that it is not
the true view. The good is, as we have shown, the
object of appetite, and provided an appetite comes within
the control of Reason and is directed to the ultimate end,
the attainment of its natural object is a moral good. Thus,
even eating and conversation may be morally good in
the same sense that almsgiving or any other lofty and
unselfish act is morally good, provided only that they
be free acts and directed by our intellects to the final
end. The " moral good," therefore, is not a mystic or
ethereal something, but simply the object of appetite as
directed by Reason, and hence, if there be natural appe-
tites controllable by Reason, there must also be natural
distinctions of good and evil.

Let us, then, first determine the various kinds of
appetite. "By appetite we mean any tendency, move-/
ment, or inclination to the attaining of an end.^ Now,
appetites may incline to ends in many ways, either con-
sciously or unconsciously ; vitally— that is, as a result
of living forces — or non-vitally. The animal's desire for
food is a conscious inclination. The tendency of the
tree to flower is unconscious. Assimilation and growth
are vital tendencies. Gravitation and the tendency of a
crystal or of iron to exhibit certain properties of colour,
form, and weight are non-vital tendencies. But any
tendency, conscious or unconscious, vital or non-vital,
is what we mean by appetite. When such tendency

io6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

springs out of the essence of an object and is not the
result of accident or of some mere passing desire the
appetite is spoken of as natural.

Now, without attempting a complete enumeration of
the appetites, we may give here what we consider their
principal division. We divide appetites, following St.
Thomas Aquinas, into two classes — physical * and
psychical or cognitive. Physical appetites are those
that spring immediately out of the nature of a thing
and have no dependence on knowledge. Psychical
appetites are those which, though possibly grounded
in nature, yet depend on and proceed from knowledge.
Nutrition and growth are physical appetites. The love
of wine is psychical.

A few prominent instances of these two classes of
appetites will suffice to show their diversity and
character, and how the nature of the appetite in each
case depends upon the kind of being to which it be-
longs. Of physical appetites the first and principal is
the tendency of every being to maintain its own
existence. Of this appetite we have already spoken in
the present chapter. f Secondly, every object besides
tending to maintain itself in being tends also to the
exercise of some proper and necessary operation— that
is, some operation that not only accords with, but is
determined by, the proper nature of the object.

* St. Thomas' word " naturalis " is here translated by " physical."
By " naturalis " St. Thomas means here not what accords willi or
even what is grounded in nature but what springs out of nature without
any dependence on cognition. This we prefer to express by the word
" physical," in order to avoid the ambiguities attendant on the word
" natural," which is so often used in this work in its more connnon
signification of " according with " or " being grounded in nature."
" Physical " here then, does not mean material, but, as the text ex-
plains, "any natural appelition which has no dependence on cog-
nition."

t Several appetites, like that for our own continued existence,
though physical and present even in unconscious and unorganised
things, may yet in the case of conscious beings take on a conscious
and psychic character also. We seek our own maintenance not only
as suDstantivc Innings, and therefore unconsciously, but also us rational
beings and knowingly.

GOOD AND EVIL 107

Minerals, for instance, tend to assume a certain form
of structure, . to possess certain chemical affinities to
other substances, to exhibit a certain colour, and
(under particular conditions) a certain weight ; plants
tend to send out leaf and flower ; the lungs have a
necessary tendency to breathe, the heart to beat, the
eye to see.* The vegetative appetites of nutrition
and growth are also physical. Given the materials of
nutrition and growth the exercise of these appetites
must follow, and independently of cognition.

Of psychical appetites there are two kinds, sensuous
and intellectual, according as the knowledge from
which the appetite proceeds is sensuous or intellectual.
In animals the love of the sexes, the desire for food and
for the preservation of offspring, are sensuous psychic
appetites. In man these same appetites are radically
sensuous, but these sensuous appetites may also take
on, in so far as they come under the control of Reason,
a rational character, and are, properly speaking, rational
appetites. But there are some appetites that are not
radically sensuous ; for instance, the appetite for
society, t which, though it has its analogue amongst
certain animal tribes, is yet itself a purely rational
appetite ; also the appetite for progress in knowledge,
and the will's desire for the good-in-general.

The question now arises — Are any of these appetites
natural ^ That the ph3'sical appetites are natural, few
indeed would be disposed to doubt, and, therefore, it
will not be necessary to give them any special promi-
nence here. The physical appetites could be nothing

• The tendency of the eye to see or of the ear to hear when their
proper objects are presented to them is a physical appetite. It pre-
cedes and is one of the causes of knowledge — it does not itself depend
on knowledge. Every faculty, whether primarily appetitive or not
has a nisus to the exercise of its own act, which nisus or appetite is
unconscious in every case.

t By human society we mean not mere gregarious living such as
many animals de.sire, but the human social life with all those purely
human conditions which shall be described later in our chapter on
Society.

io8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

else than natural, since, having no dependence on know-
ledge, there is nothing else from which they can spring
but nature. The colour of gold, the texture of wood,
the cohesive tendencies of atoms, are all natural pro-
perties, and tendencies to exhibit these properties are
all natural appetites. Also the tendencies of plants to
grow, of the lungs to breathe, of the eye to see, are
natural. They spring out of the nature of the human
organism since there is nothing else by which they could
be caused.

Our question, therefore, relates principally to the
psychical appetites which, since they depend on know-
ledge, may give rise to the question whether they could
not, like the thirst for alcohol, have grown up in indi-
viduals through accidents of environment, of bodily com-
plexion, or of habit, and whether, therefore, they are not
an acquirement rather than an original part of our
natural human constitution. It is fitting, too, that we
should confine our enquiry to these psychic appetites,
since the physical appetites are not in the control of
Reason, and consequently they cannot give rise to
distinctions of moral good and evil.

Proof that some psychical appetites are natural.

(i) Our first and obvious argument is that there are
certain objects to which all men tend in common (to
some of these, indeed, they tend in common with all
animals) — e.g., there is the appetite for life, for food,
the love of the sexes, the appetite for knowledge and
for society. Now, just as we infer that a certain limb
is natural, and that such and such is the natural organic
form of anything because these things are found in all
the individuals of a species, so also should we infer that
an appetite which is possessed by all n)en, more particu-
larly if it be possessed by all or practically all animals
also, is natural to man — that is, is :m original part of
liJH nafin"<' and conslilntjon, and in in.st^parablc from his

GOOD AND EVIL 109

nature. We claim, therefore, that some psychical
appetites are natural.

Now, some persons may not admit the premiss which
in the foregoing argument we have taken for granted as
self-evident — that an appetite which is universal is also
natural, on the ground that appetites which are inherited
from remote ancestors will necessarily be universal, even
though they may have been acquired by our ancestors.*
To meet this objection we go on to show from other
arguments that certain psychic appetites cannot be
accidental, but were necessar}^ factors of our constitu-
tion from the beginning.

''' (2) Certain psychic appetites, like some of those men-
tioned in our last argument, have allied to them certain
specified natural organs, which organs, though mani-
festly purposeful in the order of nature, could not, apart
from the psychical appetites attached to them, attain
their ends. Thus in animals (we say in ' animals '
because in plants strangely enough this nutritive organ
is able to obtain the means of sustenance without any
psychic appetite) the stomach could not attain its
natural object, food, unless they possessed cognitive
appetites for food. The organ, therefore, being natural,
nature must have provided the appetite by which alone
the organ can attain its end. We know, of course, from
experience that the psychic appetite in question does
actually exist. Our present point is that it is natural —
as natural as the organ itself, since without it the organ
would Jiave no purpose or meaning. '\

* Constant indulgence in any particular desire would, it is ex-
plained, have given to our remote ancestors a permanent tendency
towards certain objects, which tendency would through long-continued
transmission come to be felt as necessary and as inseparable from the
human race. But the point arises — why did our ancestors indulge
these desires so widely and so constantly except that they were at-
tached to permanent natural appetites.

t The same reasoning holds for other psychic appetites besides
that for food. In fact in the sense-world most psychic appetites
are attendant on and are the natural complement of some organ,
and are required in order that the organ may attain its end.

no THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

This line of argument, drawn from the presence of
appetites with specified organs, not only makes manifest
the existence in man of natural appetites, but is also of
great value in enabling us to specify the appetites which
we hold to be natural.

(3) Closely allied to the last argument is another the
force of which is admitted even by evolutionists, that
some ps3^chic appetites are so inseparable from living
things, and so necessary to them from the first moment
of their existence, that without them the races could not
have continued to live. As Leslie Stephen remarks,
without certain appetites the race could not have sur-
vived a generation. Obvious instances are the appetite
for existence, the love of food and of the sexes, and the
love of parents for their offspring. But appetites that
are so necessary that without them existence would
have been impossible must be part of our constitution
from the beginning. Hence some psychic appetites are
natural.

(4) The psychic appetites considered up to the present
are for the most part sensuous at least in their ground.
But some psychic appetites are purely rational. Of
these latter we shall consider two here — that for society
and that for the good-in-general, or the will. The
appetite for society is natural to man as is evident from
the two following reasons — {a) Man is naturally pos-
sessed of a limitless capacity for development, because
there is no end to his powers of intellectual cognition.
But without a natural appetite for society these powers
would be in vain ; for, without a natural appetite for
society it is impossible * that we should continue to live

• For proof of this proposition see chapter on Society. The argu-
ment given in the text for the necessity of a natural appetite for
society as a means to dcvc-lopnicnt is not wlidlly a priori, for vvc find
by experience (if others and by reflection on ourselves that man is
possessed of this appetite, and the only ciueslion here treated is whether
It is natural. Our reasfining on the point is the same as that in the
second argument alx>ve — witiiout a psychical appetite for society a
certain intellectual capacity would be useless. Hence the appetite for
locicty is natural.

GOOD AND EVIL iii

permanently in society, and unless we lived per-
manently in society we could not possibly, judging from
experience, attain to more than the mere beginnings of
knowledge. Hence the appetite for society is natural.
{b) Man is possessed of a natural faculty * of speech,
with no other natural purpose than the social purpose
of communicating with our fellow men in order to our
human welfare. Hence society is an original purpose of
nature, and, therefore, our appetite for it is natural.

Again, there is in man a rational faculty of will, whose
object embraces all particular goods and extends to the
good in general. Now, this faculty of will, the existence
of which is known to us from experience and from
psychological science, is shown to be natural from the
following argument from St. Thomas Aquinas, to which
we invite the reader's special attention, because it is
the argument by which St. Thomas establishes not
merely the natural character of the will, but the ex-
istence in man of natnral appetites generally, and it
seems to excel all other arguments both in point of
comprehensiveness and of logical force. Here, however,
we shall emphasise its relation to the special faculty of
will only.

Everything in the world, St. Thomas points out,f is
possessed of appetites which vary in kind and degree of
perfection with the nature of the thing to which they
belong. Minerals tend to exhibit certain mineral pro-
perties. Plants tend to vegetative effects, to assimila-

♦ Every faculty, even that of speech, has allied to it a certain nisus
towards, and therefore an appetite for, its exercise.

t " S. Thcol.," I., Q. LXXX., Art. i. St. Thomas in this article
shows that there are in man special psychical appetites by which he
means not only that they are special, but that as special these appetites
are an original part of our constitution. His treatise de homine of
the " S. Theol." is an enquiry into natural faculties and powers only.

It is hardly necessary to point to the immense and far-reaching
importance of St. Thomas' argument here. It is a claim that to every
grade of being besides the static there is also a dynamic or conative
side. The psychical appetites are the dynamic side of our cognitive
nature.

112 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tion and growth. These appetites are physical since
they have no dependence on cognition. But man is
b}' nature cognitive as well as vegetative, and, there-
fore, since every " form " or nature gives rise to a special
appetite, there must be allied to our cognitive nature
cognitive appetites also — that is, appetites for certain
objects as perceived and known. But cognition is
rational as well as sensuous, and, as rational, man can
transcend in thought all particular finite things and
can apprehend being-in-general and truth-in-general and
the infinite itself. Therefore allied to our nature as
intellectual there must be a special appetite extending
to the good in general.*

The foregoing reasoning based on the fact that each
grade of being is possessed of special appetites is con-
firmed by two other arguments which also establish the
natural character of the will. The first is that the end
of the will is our ultimate end. But we shall see later f
that unless the desire for our last end is natural no
other desire would be possible to us. Hence the will
is a natural appetite. Our second argument is the
following : whatever is, in the order of nature, necessary
for the realisation of a natural capacity, is itself natural.
If flowering is necessary for fruit, then since fruit is
natural so flowering is natural. Now man is possessed
of a natural capacity for endless progres-^. Therefore
if an appetite for the good-in-general (by which, of course,
is meant the will) is necessary for such progress such an
appetite is natural. But the necessity of an appetite
that transcends all particular goods and reaches out to
all good is beyond question. For progress it is necessary
to direct oneself to an end beyond the present, to form
and aim at ideals higher than the accomplished facts,

• As in the case of our apjxititc for society, tlie above arj^iimont
is not wholly a priori. Wc know from other .sources than mere a
priori argument tliat we are capal^le of transcending in our desires
all particular finite goods. The argument in the text merely demon-
strates that the appetite is natural.

t Page 2 J 7.

GOOD AND EVIL 113

to co-ordinate one's several particular aims, to control
their objects so as to attain to some higher object above
them all. For this there is necessary an appetite that
rises above all particular goods, an appetite for the
universal good, or bonum-in-gaicre. Hence the appetite
for the universal good or the will, is natural.

We may remark, in conclusion of this section, and
even at the risk of seeming to anticipate unnecessarily
our future chapter on Law, that it is on these natural
appetites that we build up our conception of the natural
law — each appetite giving rise to a particular law. But
the natural laws are much more numerous than the
natural objects of the appetites. For the natural law
inculcates not merely the obtaining of these natural
objects but also the doing of what is necessary for their
attainment. Thus even had we no natural desire for
food, we should nevertheless deem it our duty to eat,
since food is necessary for life, and every living sub-
stance has a natural appetite for life. Again, since in
man there is a natural appetite whose one purpose is
the maintenance and propagation of the race, there is
involved in the law of securing this good * another law
of caring and maintaining offspring, and of marriage also
as a means to this, since nature aims not at the mere
existence of children but at their growth and con-
tinuance, not at imperfect but at perfect men ; and
this duty would be binding even though there were
no special appetite in mothers for the care of their
young.

But apart from the question of how many laws corre-
spond to the separate appetites, our point here is that
since some appetites are natural some laws also are
natural. Of the permanence and invariability of these
laws, and the related question whether a natural appetite
might disappear, or whether, if it did disappear the law

* We shall afterwards explain that the law of securing one's own
life holds for each individual, the law of maintaining the life of the
race holds not for each individual.
Vol. 1—8

114 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

also should disappear, we shall speak in our chapter on
Biological Evolution.

{d) Consideration of Some Theories of Positivist

Morals

Directly opposed to the theory we have been defining
of a natural distinction between good and evil is the
theory of moral positivism, or the theory that good and
evil depend not on nature but on positive law or custom,
or on some mere passing and accidental desire. This
theory has many forms, only a few of which can be
mentioned here.

Hobbes' theory is that in the so-called state of nature,
i.e., the state which he supposes to have preceded the
formation of society, the good was merely that which
any man desired. Our objection is two-fold. First,
the theory is the negation of natural distinctions:
second, it conveys a false idea of the " good." For a
man might at any particular moment desire some-
thing in a passing way which yet opposes the most fun-
damental appetites of his being, and since such an act,
though it satisfies the mere passing desire, is neverthe-
less at variance with the still more fundamental desire of
the natural appetites, it is impossible to speak of such an
act as simply desired by us or as an object of appetite.
On the contrary, it is at variance with our appetites con-
sidered as a whole, and it is, therefore, bad. Hence,
even though the good is defined by us * as the object of
appetite, such a definition admits of a distinction be-
tween good and evil appotition. To define the good as
what any man desires, in Hobbes' sense, is to rule out
the distinction.

Rousseau reduces all distinctions of good and evil to
ordinances of the State — that is, to positive law — and
the State itself he regards as a positive institution, a

• At the beginning of this chapter we gave some account of llic
•cholastic rlofinition of the good- iJie " object of appetite."

GOOD AND EVIL 115

result of positive compact freely entered into by men.
Of Rousseau's indebtedness to Hobbes for the theory
of the origin of society we shall say nothing. But it
is evident that the theory that distinctions of good and
evil originate with the State is founded on Hobbes'
view given above. In criticism of Rousseau's view we
say (i) some moral distinctions are certainly independent
of the State, e.g., that between caring and neglecting
offspring : (2) that unless the State were itself a natural
institution it would have no moral power to impose on
us a law of preference between good and evil conduct :
(3) that the State may even now make laws which yet
we regard ourselves as free to disobey, whereas there
are certain other laws which we do not regard ourselves
as free to disobey. In other words, the State may
itself make bad laws which could not bind in conscience ;
consequently, the State is not itself the source of moral
distinctions: (4) that if men did ever enter into a com-
pact to form the State they made such compact because
the State was necessary to the attainment of certain
necessary ends. But the existence of necessary ends
involves a natural distinction of good and evil. One
end contemplated in the compact theory is that of
peace and prosperity. Therein is ground for much moral
distinction : (3) that the State itself is a natural
institution, and consequently certain ends are naturally
good for it. This, however, we shall prove in a later
chapter.*

Carneades in ancient times, and M. Levy-Bruhl in
modern, ground moral distinctions on human custom.
Law, they maintain, follows practice — not practice law.
Our ancestors did not first formulate the laws of human
conduct and then obey these laws in practice. On the
contrary, laws are an outgrowth of those practices which
the conditions of existence most favoured in bygone
ages.

* Vol. II., page 471.

ii6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Now, this theory is also false. Men, indeed, are cer-
tainly creatures of custom, but custom is also to a large
extent the creation of natural necessity. It needed no
custom to make men eat, to induce them to protect
their offspring, to enter society. These acts spring from
an inner necessity of nature, and without such neces-
sities of nature there would have been neither Society
nor custom on which to ground distinctions.

Again, in no part of nature is law founded on mere
practice or facts.* On the contrary, law always pre-
cedes in time, and is the principle of fact. The law of
gravitation does not depend on the fact that bodies
fall to the earth. On the contrary, bodies fall because
of the law of gravitation. The law that makes trees
bloom in spring did not arise after trees had bloomed
many successive years. On the contrary, they bloomed
because that is the law of trees. Now, law is not
differently related to facts or to practice in the case of
men and in the case of lower species. And, therefore,
if all nations have followed certain courses of conduct
that fact is due to one thing only — viz., that men have
toiiowed a felt law of nature — a law that was vital for
them. If, at the beginning, humanity had no law to
follow — if, therefore, its early acts were done at random
because there was no law to follow — it would have dis-
appeared as quickly as would a race of animals that had
no guiding instincts. Moral law and moral distinctions
then, cannot have resulted out of mere custom. From
the beginning conduct must have been based on natural
necessities.

Besides, there was no time since history began at
which we do not find many natural needs not only acted
on, but actually and formally recognised. For this
reason M. L6vy-Bruhl is forced to push back the period
which we have called the period of " random action "

• " There arc some thinRS," says Aristotle, " wliich \vc have and
put in practice — wc do not come to luive 11i<'m by practice " {fxavm
iXprfoafuOa ov xpri<j6tnvoi taxontv). Nicii. l*i!i II , i, .),

GOOD AND EVIL 117

into prehistoric times. Now, a thing that is possible
and likelv rnay, even when there is no historic evidence
of its existence as a fact, be represented as an hypothesis
on which to ground present phenomena. But a thing
for which we have no historic evidence, and which at
the same time offends against every known law of
nature, cannot be regarded as an admissible hypothesis
or as capable of accounting for any present phenomena.
But of the " random " system, out of which customs are
said to have proceeded, we have no historical evidence.
And, on the other hand, every known fact is dead
against the possibility of such a supposition. Trees
could not survive without water. Animals could not
survive without instincts. Men could not survive had
they not a law to follow from the beginning, at least, as
regards the essentials of the life of individuals and of
the race.

We are not free, therefore, to suppose, as cause of
our present moral system, that at one period of our
history there were no laws of human conduct and no
natural appetites ; that from that period certain courses
survived as more conducive to life than others, and that
these courses came thenceforward to be looked upon
as natural and as enforced by natural law. " Sur-
vival " may be a factor in the maintenance of certain
species ; but the species that survive are those that act
on the best system and follow the best law. A species
that lived at random, that had no natural guiding in-
stincts, could never survive the struggle for existence ;
and the human race survives because, in the main, men
have always consulted their natural appetites and needs.

Nietzsche's " new morality " is built upon the denial
of a natural distinction of good and evil. The laws that
at present rule the world are, according to Nietzsche,
the laws of the slaves who for a time have, with the aid
of the priests, gained the mastery over the aristocrats.
This is the law of pity, of mildness, of the equality of
men. To this law must succeed, with the rise of

ii8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

another aristocracy, the law of hardship and of severest
justice. But even the aristocrac}/ must give way to
another order — that of the " Ubermensch," or the
Philosopher, and to his law of individualism, of inde-
pendence from all things except himself, " independence
of Fatherland, of Pity, of Knowledge, of his own free-
dom, of virtue itself, of all except himself and his
sovereign individuality." *

At this point we have to consider only Nietzsche's
theory that the present law, so far from being natural,
is grounded on deceit, that even the aristocracy has been
tricked into accepting a law as natural and necessary
which yet is only artificial and is imposed upon them
for their overthrow, and that this law must completely
give place to another. Our answer is, that if this
" Umwerthung all Werthen," this heel over in moralit\^
of which Nietzsche speaks, were to take place, if our
present morality were to yield to another, man could
not long survive the change. Just as no man could
survive a change in his bodily functions — the use, for
instance, of the heart for breathing, of the lungs for
some other function — so human nature could not long
survive a completely new departure in morals. Func-
tion is to the body what end and law are to conduct.
And as the present law of the body is its only law, as
one member could not be tricked into accepting a func-
tion f which did not naturally belong to it, so the
present law of the social organism is its only natural
law, and it could not give way to another. The positive
law may change with change of circumstances, but there
is even in the positive law a groundwork of natural law
that can never change. Again, it is impossible that
men could be deceived into thinking that certain rules
of morality are natural and necessary. For, as we shall

* Harlmann, " Ethischc Studicn," page 55.

t In saying this wc are not unmindful of those interchanges of
function which arc considered in cerebral Physiology. These latter
arc not on a par with the violent and complete interchanges con-
sidered in the text above.

GOOD AND EVIL 119

see later, our moral beliefs are held on grounds of
Reason, and of many of these beliefs even the plainest
and least educated of men could give a rational account.
Paulsen s theory that every condition of life and
every country have their own proper morality, that
the morality of the Englishman is not that of the
Chinaman, the morality of the artist not that of the
merchant, or, as he himself expresses it, that the natural
tendency of our conscience is to develop special ideals,*
is also answered by pointing out that even though in
accidentals the duties of Englishmen and Chinam.en,
artists and merchants, may differ, in essentials they
are the same. There is no condition or country in
which stealing, lying, and the neglect of children are
the natural thing, and their opposites unnatural. As
all men have essentially the same bodily construction,
so all have the same fundamental appetites and needs.
And on these appetites is grounded the natural moral
law. But, just as in Medicine account must be taken
of all the conditions, normal and abnormal, of the body
and generally of the special requirements of individuals,
so in Morals account must be taken of the individual
circumstances, and it is from these circumstances that
the differences of moral law for different individuals
mainly originate. Every man must pay his lawful
debts, -provided he is able. Every man must abide by
the conditions of his contract, hut the conditions of con-
tract in one country are not the same as those in another.
The necessities of Art and of Medicine will justify some
things in the life of an artist or of a physician which
would not be regarded as justifiable in the case of the
merchant. But neither artist nor physician may offend
against the essentials of the natural law, nor may they
use the acknowledged privileges of their profession ex-
cept with a good end and intention, and with a due
sense of subordination to the general laws. To every

f " System of Ethics," pages 19 and 370.

120 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

privilege Reason sets proper limits, and the limits of
privileges arising from a man's status or profession are
easily definable. In the main, then, the natural duties
of aU men are the same. Of this point a fuller explana-
tion will be given in the next chapter.

Occam and many others ground all moral distinctions
on the free will of God. The good they represent as
that which He has freely commanded us to do. Now,
this theory is equally positivistic with the theory of
Hobbes and Carneades, even though it bases morality
on God, and, like the theor}^ of Carneades, it is dis-
proved by all that we have said on the existence of
natural moral distinctions. God, indeed, need not have
created any finite nature, but, granted that natures are
created, God cannot but wish for and command the
attainment of natural ends.

Though not belonging to the theories which we are at
present discussing — theories, namely, that represent all
morality as arbitrar}' — we ma}' nevertheless, on account
of their connection with the views of Occam and his
followers, be allowed to say something here on the two
theories of " Extrinsic " and " Independent " Moralit)^

A larger and more important question than that of
the freedom of God's command in relation to the natural
law is the question of Extrinsic Morality — the question,
viz., whether the moral distinctions, instead of being
intrinsic in things and inherent in their very nature,
are, on the contrary, wholly outside of acts, and spring
exclusively from God's command (whether necessary or
free) to do or to avoid them. This is the theory that
we find attributed to Scholastics generally by Herbert
Spencer. " Religious creeds," he writes, " established
and dissenting, all embody the belief that right and
wrong are right and wrong simply in virtue of divine
enactment." *

•The theory thtit moral distinctions are founded exclusively on
God's command is taught by Puffcndorf, " Law of Nature and Nations,"
11.3

GOOD AND EVIL 121

If this means, as it seems to mean, that right and
wrong are not properties of human acts themselves,
then the statement is absolutely and demonstrably
untrue. There is no commoner axiom to be found in
Scholastic Ethics than the well-known " quaedam mala
quia prohibita quaidam prohibita quia mala." The
Ethical theory, therefore, of the Schoolman was not a
theory of " Extrinsic Morality." Even the smallest
acquaintance with the works of St. Thomas should
convince us that morality is on his theory a property
of acts in their very nature. He tells us that good-
ness means fulness of being in an act, and nothing
could be more intrinsic to an act than its own
being.

The Church, too, condemns the theory of extrinsic
Morality. The 48th and 49th propositions of those
condemned by Innocent XI in 1679 (^^^ Denzinger,
pages 328, 329) are the following : — :

" Tam clarum videtur fornicationem secundum se
nuUam involvere malitiam et solum esse malam quia
interdictam, ut contrarium omnino rationi dissonum
vidoatur."

" Mollifies jure naturae prohibita non est. Unde si
Deus eam non interdixisset saepe esset bona, et ali-
quando obligatoria sub mortali."

This doctrine of " Extrinsic Morality " is also con-
demned by Saurez, Lessius, and practically all the
leading Catholic theologians.

Suarez writes : — " Haec Dei Voluntas Prohibitio aut
Perceptio non est tota ratio bonitatis et malitiae quae
est in observatione vel trangressione Legis Naturalis
sed supponit in ipsis actibus necessariam quandam
honestatem vel turpitudinem." And again " (mala)
non possunt primam malitiam habere a Prohibitione "
(" De Legibus ").

And Lessius : — " Ante omnem Prohibitionem con-
siderare in illis (actibus) quandam malitiam objectivam "
(" De Perfectionibus Divinis Lib XIII.").

122 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

We may take it, then, that the theory of " Extrinsic
Morality " is not teaching at least of the Catholic
Church (See testimonies in Ward's " Nature and
Grace ").

But if Catholic theologians and philosophers ex-
pressly oppose the theory of Extrinsic IVIoralit}' they are
equally explicit in their opposition to the theory known
as " Independent Morality." *

Independent Morality is the theory that moral dis-
tinctions have no dependence on God, and would exist
even if God did not exist.

Now this theory we repudiate wholly. It is manifest
that goodness has a most manifold dependence on
God, because {a) without God there could be neither
good nor evil, nor any acts. He is the first cause of
all things, (6) because the " good " and the " natural "
are one, and our natures are nothing more than a
certain participation in the Divine nature. Conse-
quently, the good in creatures is founded on, and is
a reflection of, the JDivine nature, (c) because good
means direction to the final end,f and God is the final
natural end, [d) because the good has not its complete
meaning in this life. " Good " leads naturally to the
actual possession of the final end, evil to its being lost.
These things are of the essence of " good " and " evil."
We have, however, seen already that the attainment of
our final end lies not in this life. Consequently good
has not its ■ complete meaning in this life. But were
moral distinctions independent of God, " good '' and
" evil " would be fully realised and completed here

* There arc many forms of this theory. That which we now refer
to is the cxtremest of these forms. "Other forms of the theory will
come up for discussion later.

\ This and the next arRiimont show clearly that pood and evil
have a closer dependence on God than other created things have. All
created things are from God. lint God docs not enter into their
definition. As the last end, however, He enters into the definition
of the " good." From argument " c " it is plain that every morally
bad act is a sin — that is, is a thcoloRical cringe. A bad act is a turning
fiway (ron^ our fm.-il end

GOOD AND EVIL 123

below. We cannot, therefore, assert that morality is
independent of God,*

♦ The view expressed by some philosophers and at least insinuated
by others, e.g., by Harms (" Ethik," page 69) that if morals are founded
on the nature of things themselves (sometimes spoken of as the theory
of " Naturalism ") they cannot be founded on God, is shown to be
untrue by the arguments given above. Morals are founded proximately
on man's nature, ultimately on the nature of God, from whom all
creatures with their natures and properties proceed.

CHAPTER V
THE MORAL CRITERIA

MEANING OF CRITERION

A CRITERION is a standard or test of anything. There
are criteria of speed, of weight, of mental abihty. A
moral criterion is a criterion of moral good and evil.

Now, a test can be either a fact or a principle. The
plumb-line is a fact-criterion. By it we test whether a
wall is perpendicular or not. The axioms of Geometry
are tests in the sense of principles. By means of them
we test the truth of geometrical propositions. These
two classes of tests, however, are not exclusive of one
another. A test that is used as a fact can (and must
when we would reason on it) be always formulated as
a principle also. We can take a plumb-line into our
hands and test a wall by it. We then use it as a fact.
Or we can make the mental assertion " the wall that is
plumb is perpendicular," and we have then formulated
a principle. Ontologically, it is plain, the fact is
primary. Logically, in the sense of helping to the
formation of our judgments about things, the principle
is primary. But as a rule it is in the sense of " facts "
that we speak of " tests," and it is in this latter sense
that we shall speak of criteria in the following pages.
Our enquiry, then, is — by what fact or facts shall we,
in the last instance,* test the moral quality of actions ?

• Wc shall sec later (paRC 135) that fli'.* primary criterion docs not'
mean that criterion which is api)lie(l immediately to luiinan acts in
order to test their morality, hut that criterion on wliich we have
ultimately to fall back in our arguments in order to test the morality
of acts and the validity of the principles. Thus in treating of questions
of justice wc rarely apply the primary criterion directly. Hut when
in defending the laws of justice wc arc driven finally back to the
enquiry — wliat is justice or what arc the simple natural relations of
men in society ? — it is then that wc must make use of our pritnary
criterion.

124

THE MORAL CRITERIA 125

It may be well to state here that immediately and
directly an ethical criterion is meant to tell us not
whether an individual is formally guilty or praise-
worthy on account of his acts, but whether objecti\ely
and in itself a particular act or course of conduct is
good — whether, e.g., lying, killing, stealing are good
or bad. But though this is true, still the determination
of the formal morality of acts depends on the moral
criteria also, since the individual man is bound to con-
form to the moral criterion, and if he does not do so it
is only ignorance . that can excuse him from formal
guilt.

DIVISION OF CRITERIA

Criteria may be divided into —

(i) Primary and derivative.

(2) Proper or intrinsic, and accidental or extrinsic.

A primary criterion is a criterion w^hich is original
and fundamental, and is not itself dependent on or
reducible to any other criteria — e.g., the bronze bar in
the office of the Exchequer as the standard of length.

A derivative criterion is one which is dependent on
the primary. It is used as representative of the
primary, generally in cases in which the primary
criterion cannot itself be conveniently applied. Such
are the ordinary weights and measures used in com-
mercial houses. These secondary tests are necessar}^
for to test in all cases by means of the original weights
and measures would be out of the question. A de-
rivative criterion, however, is not alwa^'s, as in the
case of the weights and measures, a repetition of the
primary. Any effect of the primary criterion could be
used as a derivative crite'rion as we shall see later on
in the case of the secondary criteria of morals.

An intrinsic or proper criterion is one which belongs
to the same category of being as. the object which
the criterion is meant to test — e.g., a standard tape-

126 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

rule as measure of length, a plumb-line as test of
perpendicularity.

An extrinsic or accidental criterion is one which
belongs to quite a different category of being from that
which the criterion is used to test, but is so connected
with the quality to be tested as to be a good sign of its
presence — e.g., a man's dress as criterion of his position
in society, weight as a test of quality.

These divisions are not exclusive of one another.
The weight tests might, as tests, be either proper or
accidental. They are a proper measure of weight, but
they could be an accidental measure of quality also, if
used — e.g., as a test of gold. But, as primary, a criterion
is always proper, and hence we shall in these pages
always understand by a primary criterion one that is at
the same time primary and proper.

NEED OF AN ETHICAL CRITERION

All sciences need criteria, for a science is always de
igfwtis — and to make known that which is unknown
implies the use of criteria of truth. But in Ethics there
is a special need of criteria, because, whereas light,
sound, heat, mathematical relations, etc., can be per-
ceived by the senses or the intellect, that which fonns
the subject-matter of moral science — viz., direction to
the fmal end — is not immediately perceivable by any
faculty, and becomes known to us by inference only.
Now, all mterence requires criteria. Wc need no
criterion by which to tell whether certain roads lead to
a town which lies under our very eyes, because we can
see whether they do so. But if we do not see the town,
if we merely reason that it musi be somewhere near,
then we have to use criteria like sign-posts or the state
of the roads, in order to know whether a certain road
leads to it. In Ethics we do not see the end which
primarily concerns us — ^viz., the fmal end of man. We
know intellectually in what that fmal end consists.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 127

but we do not perceive it directly, nor do we see always
directly what acts lead to it ; and, therefore, to judge of
morahty or of direction to the final end we need criteria
of morality.

We shall enquire, then, into —

(a) The primary criterion.*

(6) The secondary criteria.

(a) The Primary Ethical Criterion ^

CONDITKWS OF THE PRIMARY CRITERION

.r'

Before proceeding to discuss directly the primary-
Ethical criterion we must prepare our ground by ex-
plaining from the meaning and function of a primary
moral criterion what conditions we should expect it to
fulfil.

(i) The primary moral criterion must be absolutely
tnie and reliable, because it is itself the final measure of
moral truth. Unless the primary criterion be above
suspicion there could be no ascertainable moral truth
whatever.

(2) The primary criterion must be stable and un-
changeable ; for the criterion is a measure, and if the
measure be not fixed there could be no measurement.
If, for instance, the original measure of length already
spoken of were capable of becoming longer or shorter,
or at least of changing without our knowing it, or being
able to allow for such change, then measurement would

* We seem here to assume that the primary criterion must be one.
There is really no a priori reason why there should be one supreme
primary criterion. The primary criterion in the case of Geometry is
the axiom, and axioms arc many and distinct. So we might expect
a priori that the primary criterion of morals will be no;t one but many.
But just as in Geometry there is in a certain sense only one criterion
— viz., self-evident geometrical truth (since all the axioms are self-
evident), so we shall find that the primary moral criteria all reduce
to one — viz., to something which is common to the various individual
Primary criteria.

128 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

become absolutely impossible. So, also, if there is to
be such a thing as testing moral truth, the final test of
morals must be unchangeable. How this quality of
stability in the criterion may be consistent with develop-
ment in the moral code we shall enquire later.*

(3) The moral criterion must be universal — that is, it
must hold for all men. The reason is that, since all
men are of the same nature, the final end is the same
for all, and hence the final test of direction to that end
must be the same for all. This does not mean that
the concrete duty of one man will be the same as that
of another. It means that the duties of two men
situated in exactly similar circumstances wij^be the
same.

But, besides being the same for all, the primary moral
criterion must be also universal in the sense of accessible
to all. By this we do not mean that all men must have
the same knowledge of it or be able to analyse it to the
full, but that, in the rough, all ordinary men should
know of it. The reason is that the ordinary man must
have been equipped by nature with some means of
knowing the general moral law, since it is found that
the rudest savages, even apart from their training,
have some knowledge of morality. Now, such know-
ledge is possible for those only who have some access
to a criterion of morals, and hence the criterion must
be in some way accessible to all.

(4) The primary criterion must be practicable — i.e.,
applicable to reality. If the criterion be not applic-
able to real human life, it cannot be a criterion of moral
goodness which means the direction of the living indi-
vidual man to his last end.f

• Pages 165 and 390.

t As instance of a criterion eminently unpractical \vc would cilc
Cardinal Zigliara's criterion of morality — objective evidence. I am
•Bleed, for instance, how one is to know whether suicide is bad, and I
answer that it must l)e had since its hadm-ss is objectively evident.
Now, this criterion cannot be re^ardi'd as ]iracticabie i)ecause it does
not give the information required. Jt is exactly because the law is

THE MORAL CRITERIA 129

These are the four main conditions of the primary
moral criterion.

WHAT IS THE PRIMARY CRITERION OF MORAL GOODNESS
AND BADNESS ?

We go on now to enquire into the nature of the
primary criterion. An act is morally good when it is
directed by Reason to the ultimate end. Now, when
does an act tend to the ultimate end ? Unless we can
find some link between " act " and " final end " we
could not answer this question, for we have no direct
knowledge of the relation between act and final end —
i.e., we do not see the end, and we cannot gather from
the mere conception of the act whether it is directed to
the final end. But there is one thing that we shall
have no difficulty in admitting in this connection — viz.,
that a man tends to the ultimate natural end when he
tends to the immediate natural end of his own being as
man, for we have no other way of tending to the final
end than this. What tends to any final end tends to it
through proximate ends. All motion is a motion from
proximate to final end. And when the final natural end
is not immediately observed we know that we tend to
it when we know that we move towards the more
proximate natural ends.*

How, then, shall we determine what is the immediate
end of man ? We answer, the immediate natural end
of man is determined in exactly the same way as we
would determine the immediate end of any other natural

not evident that I ask what is the law ? If a chemist were to say —
we know a certain gas is hydrogen because it is evident it is hydrogen
he could not be said to announce a practicable criterion. A criterion
is a test, whereas evidence is not a test. What is evident needs no
test. But when a chemist tells me that he knows a gas is hydrogen
by the colour with which it bums he has then indicated a practical
test and a criterion. It is the same in moral matters.

* Besides, we should mention that in Ethics we determine the final
end by determining the immediate natural ends of the faculties. This
we saw in our chapter on the Ends of Action.
Vol. 1—9

130 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

thing — such as a tree or a horse — for the mode of our
knowledge of all is the same. Now, the immediate
natural end of any being depends upon the ends of its
various faculties, due allowance being made for the
natural order of these faculties. For example, the
immediate natural end of a tree is determined by the
ends of its various vegetative functions. Its end is to
grow and blossom and bear fruit, and shed its seed.
The immediate natural end of man is determined by a
consideration of the ends of all man's functions —
vegetative, sensitive, and rational.

The question arises, therefore — How are we to deter-
mine the natural ends of these various human faculties
and appetites ? There are two conceivable ways of
learning the ends or objects of faculties, capacities, or
appetites — either a posteriori, i.e., by experience, or
a priori, i.e., by reasoning from the nature of the living
thing (nature being the inner principle from which the
faculties or appetites of a thing spring). Now, the
second of these alternatives is excluded by the simple
reflection that we have no knowledge of this inner
nature apart from the operations to which it gives rise
and the ends and objects of these operations. We
must, then, if we are to determine the ends of the
faculties, determine, them experhnentally — that is, by
direct observation of the operations of these faculties
and the objects of these operations. It would seem,
then, that we determine what is the final end and ^
whether an act leads to it by determining the proper^. 1
objects of the natural appetites. And since these ob- \ \
jects are determined not a priori by reasoning from any N
other truths, but empirically and experimentally, these
objects must be the final criterion by which we may
know whether an act leads to our ultimate end or is
good.

In the foregoing argument, however, we are certainly
assuming a relation to exist between inner nature, on
the one hand, and the capacities and the natural ends

THE MORAL CRITERIA 131

on the other, on which we think some remarks aie
necessary.

In general, end and nature defme each other. Given
the natme of a thing we can predict its end. Given
the end we may infer the nature. This principle we
shall most easily understand by taking some concrete
examples. Once I have seen the materials, the form,
and the inner construction of a boat- that is, once I
come to know its nature — ^I can at once tell with
tolerable certainty the end it is meant to serve. It
is from the nature and form of a knife that I infer the
object it is meant to achieve. So from the nature I
may infer the end. On the other hand, given the end
I am able to infer what the nature or definition is. In
ordinary life we often define a thing by the end it is
meant to serve. A boat is a vessel for carrying people
or merchandise over water. A watch is an instrument
for telling the time. And not only do we infer the
general definition, but we are able to go into details
and say even what the inner structure must be from the
mere conception of the end. Did I know, for instance,
the end of a camera — that a camera was meant to re-
produce the forms or surfaces of natural objects — then,
provided I knew fully the laws of objects, of light, and
of perspective, I should be able to tell also the form
which the camera should take before it could reproduce
these surfaces.

These examples concern artificial objects. But the
example of the living organism is even better. Had I
an a priori knowledge of the nature of a tree I could
also tell a priori what is the natural end of the tree.
If I could see its inner structure and the laws of the
fibres I could tell at once that the end of the tree was
to send forth leaves and to blossom, and I should see
that these ends must culminate in a further end, the
shedding of the seed, as a means to the growth of
other trees. Also, did I know the inner nature of a
bird, I should be able at once to predict its habits and

132 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the ends it would attain. On the other hand, given the
_^ends to be achieved, I should know that the being must
' /^>'*'*'^''*^d\ '^^ endowed with such and such faculties and instincts
^viv*^^^^* — ^^^* ^^' ■'• si^ould be able to tell its nature. We have
pH *'^"V^4a*W' 110 difficulty, then, in accepting the general Aristotelian
"■y^Sajy^ principle that the formal and final principles of things
" define each other.

Now, which of these two — nature or end — is, de facto,
first in the order of knowledge ? Do we first know the
nature of a thing, and from that determine the end of
its capacities, or do we know the ends of things by
ordinary observation, and from the consideration of
these ends determine nature ? We speak here of
organised beings only, for in Ethics we are concerned
only with the end and nature of the human act. We
answer as before — first in the order of knowledge comes
" end " — the nature of the agent is an inference. We
know nature only as the principle of certain capacities
in the agent, and capacities are known through acts,
whilst acts in their turn are specified by ends or objects.
Human nature is that principle within us from which
spring all our faculties— vegetative, sensitive, and
rational. And we know that we are possessed of these
capacities because we know that we actually feel and
think. And these same acts of feeling and thinking
make us conscious of, and put us into relation with,
their objects. Hence our first and directest knowledge
is that of the objects or ends of action. These objects
are known to us by direct examination and empirically,
and these being once determined we can safely proceed
to specify man's faculties and nature.

Through the objects or ends of our various faculties,
therefore, as known by observation, we determine the
nature of man — not vice versa. But, as we have already
seen, it is from these same objects or ends that we de-
termine our final natural end, and whether an action
leads to it — that is, whether an action is morally good
or evil.

THESMORAL CRITERIA 133

Our primary criicrion, therefore, of moral goodness is
— the natural objects or ends * of the appetites. Those
objects or acts to which we are dhected by natural
appetites are good — they lead us to our final end, and
what is necessary for the attainment of these objects is
also good. Actions that oppose our natural appetites
and their objects are bad. Whether an act accords
or does not accord with the natural ends of the faculties
is not, indeed, in all cases determinable with the same
ease or accuracy. Thus it is possible, from a single
instance or even without instances and judging by
common sense only, to know that certain actions will
not promote the end of matrimony which is the con-
tinuance of the race. But sometimes we have to use
many instances before we can come to a definite de-
cision, as in the case of marriage between persons closely
related by blood, the ' evil and unnatural character of
which can only become certain after many instances
have been examined. But in so far as certitude is ever
found these ends or objects of our natural appetites
are the primary criterion of our moral judgments.f

THE PRIMARY MORAL CRITERION APPLIED

(i.) We must now give instances of the use of our
primary criterion. The first and most obvious instance
of the use of the primary criterion is the case known as
the natural and unnatural use of a faculty.X A faculty

* Briefly we may say that " the natural " is our primary criterion,
since the natural is what accords with our natural appetites, wants or
needs. Barter or exchange, says Aristotle (Pol. I., g, 6) is " not con-
trary to our nature since it is needed for the satisfaction of men's
aatural wants."

f " Quia vero bonum habet rationem finis malum autem rationem
contrarii, inde est quod omnia ilia ad quae homo habet naturalem
inclinationem ratio naturaliter apprehendit ut bona et per consequens
ut opere prosequenda, et contraria eorum ut mala et vitanda " (" S.
Theol.," I., II., Q. XCIV., Art. 2).

X This teaching does not involve any theory as to the distinction
of the faculties from the soul itself. It merely implies that we have
natural capacities.

134 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

is used naturally when it is used in such a way as is con-
« ducive to the realisation of its own end. The unnatural

use of a faculty is its use in such a way as to oppose its
own end. For clearness' sake we shall confine ourselves
to the case of the unnatural use of a faculty. In order
that a faculty be used unnaturally two conditions must
be fulfilled, viz.— (i) the faculty itself must he used, and
(2) it must he used for an unnatural end. The misuse of
a faculty is not the same thing, then, as injuring it or
rendering it useless. Misuse means the perverse use of
the faculty — its being made to perform its own function
specifically and directly, but in opposition to the pur-
pose which nature intended it to fulfil. Thus, to use
the sexual faculty in such a way as to frustrate its end,
which is the continuance of the race, is to act against
the natural purpose of the faculty and to violate one's
own nature and the law of nature.*

Again, there is the case of l^ang. The natural end of
the faculty of speech is the expression of inner convic-
tion to another, f But if speech be used to express what
i-^ we believe to be false, the faculty is used unnaturally,
and the act is morally bad. And as every lie involves
[40 this perverse use of speech, the lie is intrinsically wrong
and unjustifiable.

Again, there is the case of suicide. In suicide the
whole appetent nature of man with all his faculties is
used unnaturally. For every appetite and capacity in
man tends mediately or immediately to the maintenance
and perfection of the agent, J whilst suicide is the use
of the will and other capacities to the destruction of
the agent. The natural end, then, of man's appetitive
nature is here, as in the other instances given, our test
of good and evil.

•The case of sterility is quite different from this. There the im-
possibility of realising nature's end is not due to the individual in
question, but to certain conditions over which jhtsous have no control.

f This wc shall prove in the second part of the present work.

X Sco 11, 52 for proof of tliis proposition.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 135

These examples will show what is meant by the un-
natural use of a faculty. It means, not injury to the
faculty from outside, as when one man hurts another
so that a faculty cannot be exercised, but " violation
from within " — i.e., the use of the faculty for an un-
natural end.

This is the first and most obvious example of the use
of our primary criterion. The rule not to use a faculty
in such a way as to oppose the realisation of its natural
end is universally and absolutely valid. There is not a
single exception to it. To use a faculty in such a way
as to make its natural end impossible of realisation is
intrinsically unnatural and bad. There could be no
more direct and imequivocal \iolation of nature than
this. It is the complete perversion ot nature's purposes
and needs.

RANGE OF APPLICATION OF THIS CRITERION

The reading of the cases just mentioned will at once raise
the enquiry to what kinds of moral problem the use of our
primary criterion extends — whether it is used only in con-
nection with problems like those just given, which, after
all, rarely arise for discussion, or whether it is also used in
connection with the more ordinary difficulties which confront
us in our daily lives. The question is important, and we
may treat it here before passing to the second portion of
our discussion on the primary criterion. Our answer is : —
the fundamental criterion will naturally be most used in
the discussion of the fundamental problems of Ethics — other
moral discussions necessitate as a rule no appeal to this
criterion. Thus there are innumerable problems arising on
the duties of parents to each other and to their children
which necessitate no appeal to the fundamental criterion.
But should the most fundamental of all such problems be
raised, viz., why marriage and the family are necessary,
then we must appeal to the primary criterion, the natural
end of the sexual powers. Again, problems relating to the
duties of citizens may involve no further question than the
meaning of a particular law or whether sovereignty resides
in this person or in that. But should the fundamental
question be raised why there is such a thing as political

136 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

authority at all, or why the State is necessary, we must then
make appeal to our human faculties and their objects, and
show that the State is necessary for the full development
of man within the range of the natural faculties.

A word will here be necessary on the special question of
justice which will so largely occupy our attention in the do-
main of Applied Ethics. For the most part problems in
justice necessitate no appeal to the primary criterion. Often
the question involved is one of mere fact, e.g., whether goods
have been justly acquired, and often there is question of
some mere derived principle, e.g., whether goods lost may be
retained by the finder, or whether the seller of goods should
manifest hidden defects. In these cases the criterion followed
will consist, in the first case, of the evidence adduced, and, in
the second, of whatever principles are advanced to elucidate
the problem under review. It is only in discussions con-
cerning the ultimate problems of justice, viz., why there
is such a thing as commutative justice at all, or why I should
give to every man his own, or why I may not treat men as I
wish, that appeal is made to the objects of the natural
faculties. For the first problem of justice consists in showing,
that men are by nature equal, that they are never mere
means to one another, and cannot be used merely for one
another's pleasure. And since this relation of equality is
based on the fact that all men have the same faculties,
subtending the same objects and the same final end,* it is
clear that justice like all other departments of Ethics, is in
the last resort made to rest upon the primary criterion. In
general then it may be stated that the primary criterion
relates immediately to the primary problems only — mediately,
of course, and indirectly it covers the rest as well.

The range of application of the primary criterion
being thus explained we now go on to a fuller determina-
tion of the use of this criterion. Up to the present we
have spoken as if the use of the primary criterion con-
sisted simply in determining the ends of particular
faculties. But there are problems in Ethics that de-
pend rather on the relation between the objects of
faculties than on the* objects themselves, and these
problems it will be necessary to illustrate here. They

• &•<• Vol 11 , jvi-to 8a,

THE MORAL CRITERIA ^ 137

form a second class of instances of the use of our primary
criterion.

(II.) The natural order of the j acuities depends on the
natural order of their objects. Each faculty has its
natural object, and between the objects of the faculties
there is a certain natural order. This natural order is
one of the greater or less — i.e., of greater or less breadth
of object subtended by the faculty.* Thus the object
of the vegetative faculty is a comparatively narrow one
— it is, as St. Thomas Aquinas terms it, corpus pro-
prium. The object of the sensitive faculties is much
wider ; it embraces as much of the sensitive world ^s
is materially present to us and knowable. Wider still
is the object of intellect, which embraces the whole
world, present, past, and future, material and im-
material. " Intellectus fit omnia " is Aristotle's trite
description of it. This difference in breadth of object
subtended by the faculties establishes between these
faculties certain relations of supremacy and inferiority,
and makes of them a hierarchical order corresponding
to the natural hierarchy of ends they serve. Amongst
appetites in particular (for they are the faculties with
which we are particularly concerned in Ethics) the
lowest appetite will be the vegetative ; the next is the
sensitive appetite ; the highest, or the master appetite
(that which depends on Reason, and whose object em-
braces the objects of all the appetites) is the " will." It
will easily be seen, too, that in man the higher of these
faculties is built upon the lower — the sensitive upon the
vegetative and the rational upon the sensitive — just as
a house is built upon its foundations and the higher
storey upon the lower. And as the foundations may
be regarded as means and the house as end, so the lower
faculty may be regarded as means to the higher. But
this order of subordination between the faculties de-

* " Genera vero potcntiarum animae distinguuntur secundum
objecta : quanto enim potentia est altior tanto respicit universalius
objectum " (" S. TheoL," I., Q. LXXVIII., Art. i).

138 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

pends upon the relative width of objects which they
subtend, and, therefore, the width of objects subtended
by the faculties is the norm by which problems are
solved which depend upon the relations of the faculties.

Now it might be thought that problems of the kind,
and they are many, must necessarily be very difficult
and abstruse, since plainly it would be no easy matter
to determine mathematically the exact difference in
width of objects which are subtended by any pair of
faculties. But this is not the case. For in such prob-
lems as arise in Ethics it is not necessary to determine
the exact number of objects subtended by a faculty,
much less to determine differences between the various
faculties singly. It is necessary only to deal with
groups of faculties, and the differences between the
groups, as will be seen from the following examples,
are easily determined. We do not, e.g., require to com-
pare one sensitive appetite with another. We compare
the whole group of vegetative with the whole group of
sensitive, and these again with Reason, and our claim is
that a group of lesser width is naturally subordinate to
one of greater width, while all the faculties, whatever
their objects may be, are subordinate to the interests
of the whole man.

As, therefore, in any organism each part has its own
end distinct from that of other parts, yet serves certain
other parts, and as the end of each part is subordinated
to the end of the whole, so every faculty in us has its
own end or object, but is subordinate to the \\ider
faculty which contains it and to the whole organism,
since the end of the whole organism includes the end of
each part. From these relations we derive the laws of
organisms. And these laws give rise to moral precepts.
For, just as in a machine, it would be irrational to use a
screw to the detriment of the shaft which the screw is
meant to maintain in its place, so also it would be un-
natural to use a vegetative or sensitive faculty to the
destruction of intellect, or to blot out the intellect for

THE MORAL CRITERIA 139

the sake of administering to those lower faculties some
momentary enjoyment. So drunkenness is unlawful,
since in it the intellect is suspended or obscured * for
the sake of securing an unnecessary momentary organic
pleasure. But it would be quite lawful to obscure or
suspend the intellect temporarily either for some per-
maihnt good accruing to the sensitive or material parts,
or more especially for some good accruing to the whole
man, for each part has its own value, and the end of
the whole man includes the ends of the parts. It would
be natural and lawful, for instance, violently to be made
unconscious, either by means of ether or alcohol, in
order to get relief from great physical pain or to get a
limb cut off which endangers life, for in such an act
the natural order is observed. Nay, it would be lawful
to suspend consciousness for the mere purpose of re-
moving some bodily disfigurement however small, for,
though the lower part is subjected to a higher, yet
the lower parts have their own value, and a temporary
suspension of a higher faculty in order to secure a per-
manent good in a lower is quite in accordance with the
order and requirements of nature. Briefly, part may
be means to the whole, yet part has its own value, too,
and its value must be taken account of in estimating
the order of our faculties and their subjection to one
another. But in all these cases the criterion on which
we build our moral judgment is none other than the
, objects of the faculties concerned, and their natural
relations to one another.

In the second part of our work we shall consider this
subject of the primary criterion and its applications more
closel}' than is now possible for us.

* In sleep the suspension of our intellects is itself natural and
necessary for life. The suspension of Reason spoken of in the text
is the violent and unnatural blotting out of Reason effected by ether
or alcohol. St. Thomas gives another explanation of the wrongfulness
of drunkenness. " Drunkenness," he saj's, " in blotting out Reason,
thereby subjects us to the risk of sin, Reason being our guiding
faculty." — See vol. II, p. 62.

140 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

{b) The Secondary or Derivative Criteria

As we have already explained, a derivative criterion
is dependent on the primary criterion, and is applied
in place of the primary when the primary criterion itself
cannot be used. For sometimes, on account of the com-
plicated reasoning involved, we are not able merely by
considering the ends or objects of our faculties to say
whether a particular act is natural or unnatural, good or
bad. In such cases we can often have recourse to other
criteria which tell us indirectly whether an act is natural
or unnatural, from a consideration, namely, of some
necessary consequence or concomitant of natural or un-
natural action — something which a natural act either
involves or excludes. Some of those criteria are soi
intimately connected with the primary that the cer-
tainty they afford is practically equal to that given by
the primary criterion itself. Others are connected with
it less closel}^ and these either give us a low degree of
certainty or only a high degree of probability. But
they are genuine criteria if they yield us anything ap-
proaching certainty on the moral quality of actions.

(l) FIRST derivative CRITERION — GENERAI INJURY WITH
GENERAL OBSERVANCE

The first of these derivative criteria is that known as
the principle of " general injury with general observ-
ance," and its opposite " general utility with general
observance." That act is good, we say, which, if it
were raised to a general line of conduct, should neces-
sarily work out happily for the race ; that act is morally
evil which, if it were raised to a general line of conduct,
should necessarily prove injurious to the race.

The value of this criterion will be evident if we con-
sider that it results from a far-reaching mctaphj'sica!
truth — the truth, namely, that " nature never tends to
its own destruction." We may regard this principle as

THE MORAL CRITERIA 141

almost a truism and as borne out both by Reason and
by common experience. Let the parts of a machine all
work together according to the manner of their original
design, let them not be worn out or displaced, and the
machine will work easily, smoothly, and well. Let all
the conditions of nature be observed in eating, let no
organ be put to a work which is not naturally its own,
and let each organ perform its normal and natural
functions, and then only one effect can follow — viz.,
health and well-being. Under such conditions as these
injury or decay becomes impossible. But let any organ
be put to work under conditions that are not natural to
it, and the result is destruction. And as we thus reason
about a machine or the physical functions of the human
body, so we can reason similarly about the exercise of
our other natural faculties. Let a man use his faculties
as nature intends they should be used, and it is impos-
sible that their exercise should not promote his welfare.
And the welfare of which we are now speaking is not
the welfare that will follow upon the attainment of the
ultimate end, but our physical and mental, as well as
our social welfare here below. To work naturally,
therefore, is to work well ; to work unnaturally is to
work to destruction.

Any course of conduct, therefore, that works destruc-\\^
tion generally, cannot he the course of nature. We say '
" generally," for from a single act and its consequences
it would be impossible to say whether an act is natural
or unnatural. In individual acts there are always acci-
dents and unessential circumstances, and the good and
evil in such cases may be the result not of the act itself
as such, but of the accidents or circumstances incident
to its performance. And, therefore, it would be wrong
to conclude that because a particular kind of action in
a particular case was attended by evil consequences,
that kind of action must be unnatural. But humanity
at large is subject to no accidents, and effects that
follow upon a certain kind of action at all times and

142 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

in all circumstances must follow not from the circum
stances but from the act considered in itself. And
hence an act that always works ill — i.e., an act which, \
when made a general line of conduct, must injure man-'
kind — ^must be discordant with human nature and with
the ends of nature. We should remark, however, that
' injury " is a surer criterion of evil than " benefit "
s of good ; it is evident that nature reacts more surely
and more promptly on the unnatural than it responds to
the natural. A little poison will injure a man, whereas
much good food may not increase his health. And
hence we prefer to give as our expression of this present
criterion the negative formula that " what brings injury
to the race when raised to a general Hne of conduct is
bad." In order, then, to make prominent the negative
which, as we have seen, is also the stronger side, we shall
call our criterion, for want of a better name, the principle
of " general injury with general observance."

This is the first of the derivative criteria, and as a ..
criterion it is absolutely incontrovertible, for it rests on |
a fundamental truth of Metaphysics — ^viz., that nature
tends to maintain itself, and that, consequently, what-
ever tends to general destruction, and tends to it irre-
spective of particular circumstances, is unnatural.

The question arises — is this criterion intrinsic or ex-
trinsic ? We reply — sometimes the effects of an action
are coincident with its natural end or object, and then
the criterion is not only intrinsic, but is, properly
speaking, an application of the primary criterion. Thus
marriages between persons not related by blood are,
other conditions being fulfilled, natural, because by
them are secured the maintenance and welfare of the
race. On the other hand, marriages between blood-
relations arc unnatural because, instead of promoting
the ends of matrimony, they bring injury to the race.
But here the good and the bad effects are respectively
coincident with the natural end or object of matrimony
and its opposite, and hence in arguing from the effects

THE MORAL CRITERIA 143

we are arguing from the end itself — that is, we are
making use of the primary criterion. But in the case
of drunkenness, whereas the intrinsic evil of the act
consists in the fact that Reason is temporarily suspended
for no just purpose, the evil effects of drunkenness on
the race at large are rather an evil of body than of mind,
or, at all events, they are different in character from the
evil which makes of drunkenness a specific sin ; and,
therefore, though we might use these effects as a
secondary criterion in order to determine whether
drunkenness is a sin, they could never be more than an
extrinsic criterion.

In general, then, this secondary criterion, though most
reliable as a criterion, is extrinsic.

Conditions of Application of this Criterion.

The general condition of application of the present
criterion is that any evil consequences which serve as
the criterion of the inherent evil of an act must be such
as spring from the act itself specifically and necessarily,
and not as a result of some adjunct to or circumstance
of the act. This general condition includes the follow-
ing three : —

(i) The bad effects from which we judge must not '|
depend upon free will. They must follow as a necessary '
consequence of the act itself. For instance, it might be \^
argued that mixed education is intrinsically unnatural ^
because social ruin would be sure to follow were the ^,
sexes educated together generally. But this is not an J
application of our present criterion, because the evils
that follow in the case result, not from the fact that the
sexes are educated together, but from the fact that
people would of their own free will and through weak-
ness take advantage of the relations thus established
for perverse purposes. The system, therefore, of mixed
education, though it may be condemned on other scores,
cannot be condemned on the ground that it is intrinsi-

144 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

caUy unnatural. And not being intrinsically unnatural,
it is not intrinsically bad, and can be allowed in certain
circumstances and with certain precautions. Other ex-
amples of this first condition will readily suggest them-
selves.

{:^) The evij effects must be the result of the act itself
and not of the absence of that which the act replaces.
The following is an interesting example of this dis-
tinction : If all men were to become pawnbrokers social
life would necessarily decay. Is, therefore, pawn-
broking unnatural ? Certainly not, because in a society
in which all men have become pawnbrokers the decay
that ensues is explained, not by the fact that all men
have become pawnbrokers, but by the fact that there
are now no other trades in existence — by the fact,
namely, that there are no grocers, no merchants, no
bakers. If, however, all men became pawnbrokers, and
at the same time carried on some other business, then
there is no reason why the evils suggested above should
arise. The evil effects when they do arise spring, not
from pawnbroking, but from the absence of those trades
which universal pawnbroking would replace.

(3) The evil effect must not be the result of too much
or too little in the action, but of the act itself as such. ;|
Thus, if all men were to drink whiskey at all hours and
in unlimited quantities, the race would soon disappear
from the earth. But the use of whiskey is not thereby
unnatural. For the effect is due to the intemperate use
not to the use of whiskey. If all men drank moderately
no evil effects need follow.

We have drawn out these conditions separately be-
cause of their importance, though in reality they are
all contained in the one condition — that the evils must
follow from the act itself specifically. Fully announced,
therefore, the principle takes some such form as this — '
" Any act which when raised to a general line of conduct
will, owing to its specific character, injure humanity, is
intrinsically unnatural and bad."

THE MORAL CRITERIA 145

The present criterion manifestative only, not constitu-
tive of morality.

Now, as the one function of the criterion in question
is to help us to know whether a human act is natural or
unnatural, it will be easily seen that the criterion as
such is only manifestative of morality not constitutive of
it — in other words, that an act is bad not because on
being raised to a general line of conduct it works destruc-
tion, but if and in case that on being raised to a general
line of conduct it works destruction — that is, we know
that an act which brings about evil consequences must
be unnatural and intrinsically bad, but it is not intrin-
sically bad because of these consequences. No doubt it
is intrinsically wrong to inflict injury on humanity, and
one of our special duties is to avoid such injury. But at
present we have nothing to do with any special dut}-.
We are asking what it is that reveals the moral badness
of acts in general ? And we say that an act is bad
because it is unnatural and because it does not lead the
will that performs it to the ultimate end ; but we know
that an act is unnatural through its effects, and, there-
fore, this criterion manifests to us the moral character
action ; but it does not constitute the moral character
i.e., it does not make an act good or bad.

From this a most important conclusion follows — ^viz.,
that an act which, if raised to a general line of conduct,
would work evil for the race is bad, not merely when it
is generally adopted and when it does actually work evil
but in each particular case in which it is performed, and
whether evil effects actually follow in the particular case
or do not. The importance of this conclusion cannot
be over-rated. And the reason of it is very plain.
The criterion is manifestative of, not constitutive of,
morality. The act is bad not because it works evil
effects on the race, but because it is unnatural, and
leads away from the ultimate end. Were it bad because
it affects the race prejudicially, then it would be evil
when such evil effects do actually follow, and in no other

Vol. I — lo

re-

-I

146 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

case. Where, however, the injurious effect is only a
sign of moral badness, the act will still remain bad even
in cases in which for some reason or other the effect
does not happen to follow, for the badness does not
depend upon and is not constituted by the effect. We
can find plenty of suggestive examples of such a distinc-
tion even in the physical sciences. We know that a
certain substance is poisonous by the fact that if a
sufficient dose of it be taken it kills. But once we have
established that fact we may still maintain that this is
a poisonous substance even though we should meet
cases in which for some reason or other {v.g., because
the patient by careful dosing has rendered his system
poison-proof to this substance) the bad effect does not
actually follow. Again, to alter the class of example,
we know that the waves of the sea must have a certain
intrinsic energy because of the ravages they effect on
the coast. Should, however, we see a coast that, on
account of its position, is proof against the waves, we
still may attribute to the waves the same intrinsic
energy as before. In these two cases the effects are
only manifestative of a certain quality, and, therefore,
once by means of the effects we have established the
certain existence of this quality or nature, we must
still assert this quality or nature even though the effect
does not happen to follow in a particular case.

So also in the case of moral science, we know that
stealing is bad intrinsically and always, and one* of
our reasons for thinking so is that social life would be-
pome absolutely impossible were stealing made generally
allowable. For a similar reason we know that a lie is
bad. But once it has been made evident to us through
these effects that stealing and lying are intrinsically
bad acts we need not afterwards in individual cases

• The reader must not conclude, because \vc apply to a particular
class of conduct one of tin; secondary ciitcria tliut llicreforc wo arc
unable tc u»c the j)rimary. As a matter of fact, both stealing,' ami
lying are most interesting illustrationH of the primary ethical criterion.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 147

set ourselves to consider the actual effects in particular
circumstances ; for the bad effects that we observed
were merely an extrinsic test of the intrinsic evil of these
acts, they were not themselves part of the intrinsic evil
of these acts ; had any other test presented itself we
need not have considered these effects at all. Hence
the lie remains bad always, even though in a particular
case no evil results ensue either for the race or for the
individual. So also we know that nature forbids matri-
mony amongst people closely related by blood, and we
know this by the fact that marriages largely entered
into amongst blood relations are followed by racial de-
generation. But once we have established this law of
the evil of such marriages we know that they are in-
trinsically unnatural, and that, therefore, they are for-
bidden in every case.* Briefly, the present criterion is
manifestative of morality, not constitutive of it, and,
therefore, any moral truths that are derived from a con-
sideration of the evil consequences hold good even
when, through some accidental condition which may or
may not be known to us, the effects happen not to
follow.

It occurs to us that from the beginning of the present
section readers may possibly have been exercised about
the question how this criterion of morality drawn from
the consequences of action stands related to another
theory which we shall have occasion to speak of later —
namely, the theory of Utilitarianism, This question we
are now in a position to answer. Utilitarians, like our-
selves, insist that the consequences of an act are a
criterion of right and wrong in human action. But the
two theories are nevertheless radically distinct and
opposed, as will be seen from the following brief com-
parison. In the first place, utilitarians insist that the

• We do not here enter fully into the question of consanguinity
and the natural law. We are at present only illustrating a principle,
and therefore we speak without any attempt at great scientific or
even ethical precision on this question. See, however, Vol. II. p. 443.

148 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

1/ happiness or weU-being of the race is the final natural
I end of good action as well as its criterion. We claim
that the happiness of the race is only a criterion.
Secondly, in the utilitarian theory the consequences of
an act constitute its goodness, in ours they merely mani-
fest the same. Thirdly, in the utilitarian theory the
consequences are the primary and fundamental criterion ;
we regard them as affording a secondary and derivative
criterion only. Fourthly, utilitarians believe that if a
particular act itself brings unhappiness to the race, it is
bad. We claim merely that if an act should necessarily
injure the race on being raised to a general line of conduct
it must be bad. These points of difference are essential
and render the two theories not only distinct but radically
opposed.

NOTE ON ETHICAL OPTIMISM

From what we have said it will be plain that there is
between morality and the general welfare a very intimate
connection — that, therefore, there was good ground for St.
Augustine's well-known principle, " Necesse est ut homo sit
beatus unde sit bonus," and that Kant was near the truth
when he declared that a good act was one that could be
made a universal law of action for men.

Although this question does not come within the scope of
Ethical Enquiry in its strictly limited sense, it will be well to
say a word here on the general theory of " Ethical Optimism "
— the theory, viz., that " virtue alone is happiness below," or
that the good and happiness must be proportionate to one
another. This question would not arise at all except for,
first, a seemingly ineradicable conviction on the part of men
in general that virtue and happiness ought to be propor-
tionate ; and, secondly, a conviction born of experience, that
to a very large extent they are not proportionate. Plato
attempts to prove the theory of optimism by sliowing that
such pleasures as do not spring from virtue are unreal, and
that, therefore, the parallelism between virtue and real
pleasure must be complete. J^ut this theory is very unsatis-
fying to the practical man for whom felt pleasures and pains
(whether real or unreal) arc everything. Not more satisfying
is the thfiory offered by some Aristotelians that, according
to Aristotle, conlfiihncnt ensues on the attainment of good

THE MORAL CRITERIA 149

and that good and contentment must, therefore, correspond.
This theory is purely a priori, and takes no account of the
fact that often good men are unhappy. But to cope with
the facts, whatever may be our general theory of happiness,
it will be necessary to proceed not a priori but empirically.
We must see how, in the actual experience of men, happiness
stands related to goodness, whether they are proportionate
or not, and what are the causes of the disproportion if they
be found to be disproportionate. The following propositions
will, we think, represent with tolerable accuracy the relation
of happiness to virtue in so far as tliis relation is known from
experience : —

(a) The virtues and happiness generally. We cannot claim
that there is an ahsohite proportion between the virtuous life
and happiness. The most virtuous man is often unhappy
here below. And even if this unhappiness is to be made up
for hereafter, yet present sufferings remain as an element of
disproportion and as disproving the theory of an absolute
correspondence between virtue and happiness. Coming more
to particulars, we shall consider, first, the general happiness,
secondly, the individual happiness.

{b) On the universal welfare we would assert the following
general propositions : —

(i) That it would be impossible for humanity at large to
be happy or prosperous with no leaven of good in it — i.e.,
with every man a liar, a fornicator, a thief, &c. Universal
vice, with no good, should soon bring its o\vn terrible retri-
bution, and make it clear that the wages of sin is death.

(2) Next — to take the case of a world partly good and
partly evil — we claim that a nation with absolutely no social
virtues like justice, the marriage virtues, truth, &c., must
forthwith decay. These virtues are the natural fastenings to
which a nation owes most of its strength. Without them it
could not exist any length of time. Also, in the case in
which these virtues are not wholly wanting, a nation will
still, other things being equal, be weaker in proportion to the
deficiency.

(3) A nation in which the social virtues (those, viz., which
affect not the personal good, but the relations of men with
one another) are cultivated may still be as a nation strong
and prosperous, even though the private virtues be almost
wholly wanting. An utter or a grave absence of private
virtue must, indeed, soon react upon the public life and

150 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

prove detrimental to it, but formally and directly the private
virtues affect the private welfare only.

The public or universal welfare, therefore, varies with
the degree of public morality which is attained.

(c) The individual welfare. The relation between the
individual welfare and morality may be inferred from the
three following considerations : (i) Speaking generally, no
act is pain-producing by being natural and good, or pleasur-
able so far as it is unnatural and bad. On the contrary, if
a bad act produces pleasure it is the natural or good element
which inheres in every evil act that is the source of the
pleasure.* Thus, if a man steals money, the good effects
that accrue to him arise not from the fact that the money
is stolen, but from the fact that he has come by money — a
good thing viewed in itself. (The sweetness of stolen fruits
does not contradict this view. Their pleasure is born not
of the dishonour of them, but of the excitement and the
novelty in the mode of getting them.) So also a sin of un-
chastity brings pleasure to the individual not from the fact
that a faculty is exercised unnaturally, but from the fact
that it is exercised at all, and in part naturally.

(2) What is called the moral good is not necessarily to be
regarded as proportionate to happiness, the reason being
that the moral good or virtue is not the whole of " good."
Happiness and the " good " are really proportional to one
another. But " good " and " evil " are of two kinds —
physical and moral — and happiness and misery depend upon
the two kinds. We suffer something from a morally bad
act in so far as it is unnatural (from some acts more, from
some less), and we suffer from physical evil also — for instance,
from a broken leg or from poverty. Hence for perfect
individual happiness a man should be subject to no evil
whatsoever, either physical or moral, either in himself or
his surroundings. To this latter source of unhappiness,
that, viz., of a morally bad surrounding, more than to the
others is to be attributed the disproportion that exists be-
tween pleasure and goodness, for goodness prospers only in
good surroundings. Thus justice as such brings happiness.
But a single injustice will upset the moral equilibrium of a
whole community, and then even justice may cause misery.
It is a pain to pay my debts when others do not pay me. To
sum up — " virtue " (or moral good) and individual happiness
may not fully correspond, but happiness fully corresponds

• " A man receives pleasure from what is natural to him " —
Aristotle (" Politics," VIII., 7).

THE MORAL CRITERIA 151

with the " good " if we include in the " good " both physical
and moral goodness ; good in ourselves and in our sur-
roundings.

(3) The " good," though proportional to happiness, is not
necessarily proportional to happiness here below. To a large
extent they must be proportional even here below, but there
is no absolute correspondence between them, and to expect
such a correspondence would be to take a very narrow view
of the laws and resources of nature. Even in the physical
world the fruits of good are not always to be reaped im-
mediately. The reaping always follows the sowing in time.
The good management of a tree is rewarded, not now when
we dig it around and manure it, but later — viz., in the fruit-
ing season. The moral good has also its natural and necessary
reward, hut the fruits of our good acts cannot always mature
here, but only in another season and another place.

The foregoing propositions might be brought together as
follows : {a) the public happiness is proportionate to public
good ; {h) individual happiness is never promoted by evil cis
such but only by the good element in action. But in esti-
mating goodness we must take account of physical and moral
goodness and also goodness in one's self and in surroundings ;
whilst in estimating happiness we should not confine our view
to what is to be attained here. But even between goodness
and happiness here there must be some proportion.

Two corollaries force themselves on our attention. One is
that happiness in this world is to be found not in the avoid-
ance of action, in the Nirvana, as Schopenhauer said, but in
the active pursuit of good. The second is that happiness
and prosperity are found, not as Tolstoi seems to hold {e.g.,
in essay " The First Step ") in the labour of an uncultivated
life, but rather in the fully developed life. For the natural
is happiness-bringing, and nature is at its best when our
powers are used to produce their highest effects.

Happiness, then, and virtue are harmonised in the concep-
tion of the good end or the natural end. Many and curious
are the solutions of this problem of harmony which have been
proposed by writers on Ethics. We will give a few of them,
and leave them to the consideration of the reader, (i) It is
said that there is in nature a law of reciprocity which must
bring about even here below the restoration of an Ethical
order which we at present miss in the world. Also (2) that
a good conscience is its own reward, that the happiness it
gives neutralises the pain of good action (Hartmann). (3)
According to the Evolutionary school the laws of evolution

152 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

make it certain that some day, even here below, virtue, and
happiness must coincide, that the whole world is working
out into harmony, that the pain of virtue is nothing more
than the unresolved chord of our moral life. The evolution-
ary solution lays particular stress upon the effect of Altruism
in the bringing about of moral happiness. " Altruism,"
writes Spencer, " of a social kind may be expected to attain
a level at which it will be like parental altruism in spontaneity,
a level such that ministration to others' happiness will become
a daily need." (4) Dr. Simmel (" Einleitung ") suggests this
method of conciliation amongst others : — Whether naturally
virtue and happiness would or would not tend to coincide,
we can by believing that they will harmonise actually bring
about their reconciliation, just as sick people, by believing
they will recover, often do recover in point of fact. (5) For
theories reconciling virtue (in sense of altruism) with Happi-
ness see Chapter on Utilitarianism (Appendix).

On the evolutionary theory of reconciliation in particular,
ve would make three brief suggestions : —

i) Development, or the tendency upward to the good, if
:WCh a tendency actually exists, must make for happiness.
And we are inclined to think that such a tendency does exist,
that man must develop with time, consequently his happiness
must increase with time. But can it on the Evolutionary
hypothesis so increase as to correspond absolutely with
virtue ? Certainly not — in this world there will still always
remain the possibility of physical pain and its attendant
sorrow.

(2) Much of the fruit of virtue is, as we saw, to be looked
for in another world. Were there no other world, did the
" far-off interest of tears " belong to this world only, we
should have very little hope of any such " interest " ever
realising itself. All the essentials of unhappiness seem
bound to remain in this world even for developed mankind.
and for our part we can only diminish and restrain them.
Were there no hereafter we should agree, not with Spencer's
theory as given above, but with Leslie Stephen's, who
writes : — " The attempt to establish an absolute coincidence
between virtue and happiness is, in Ethics, what the attempt-
ing to square the circle or to discover perpetual motion is in
Geometry and Mechanics " (Science of Ethics).

(3) Some Evolutionist Ethicians give as proof of the
coincidence of virtue and haj^piness the existence in each
of us of an irresistible impulse to hope for their future
coincidence. Now whether this " postulate of reason," as

THE MORAL CRITERIA 153

i^ is called, exists in us or not we cannot at present say.
But we wish to point out that if it does exist it is opposed
in its intimations to the Evolutionist theory. For Evolu-
tionists claim that virtue and happiness will coincide, not
in the case of present, but only of future men whilst the
postulate of Reason to which they make appeal, if it exists at
all, makes promise of the happiness of virtue to each human
heart.

These three points should be attended to in criticising the
evolutionary theory on happiness and virtue.

{2) THE SECOND DERIVATIVE CRITERION — " COMMON
HUMAN CONVICTIONS "

We do not intend to discuss in the present chapter
the " common consent " theorj'^ connected with the
name of De Lamenais and others, the theory, namely,
that the common human convictions are the primary
criterion of morals. The. theory is so absurd on the
face of it that it does not require discussion. If there
be such a thing as a real distinction between good and
evil, and if men in general believe that certain acts are
good and others evil, they must have some reason for
their belief. That reason will be our reason also and
our criterion. We now, however, proceed to prove that
although the common human convictions cannot be ac-
cepted as the fundamental and primary criterion of

/ morals they have real value as a derivative criterion.
And their value consists in the fact that ancient and
widely-spread human convictions on good and evil are
as a rule based upon a certain intimacy with human
nature and its needs, an intimacy which is as deep and
broad as it is long-continued. Humanity, like indi-
viduals, must have its standard of good and evil, for
good and evil are not always known intuitively ; and

. that standard is nature. Mankind, with the collective
wisdom and knowledge of ages, matured and seasoned
as its wisdom is by experience, has seen very deeply
into human nature and its needs ; for its convictions

154 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

have been built up through many turns and vicissitudes
of human history, and they express, therefore, just
what is broad and substantive in human nature — not
what belongs to one time or one set of circumstances,
or is accidental. These convictions are written deep
down in the brain of the race. They express what
man ought to be, what becomes him and will do him
good ; and, on the other hand, what is unsafe and un-
suitable for him, and what will certainly do him harm —
what is lasting, as in accordance with the abiding
principles within his, and what is only caprice and
fashion and dependent upon mere circumstances.*
The strength of this criterion, then, lies in that ac-
quaintance with human needs which the race has
gained from its almost endless experience of human
nature. And since human nature or our natural ends
are the primary criterion of morals, this secondary
criterion depends upon the primary. We may or may
not be able to apply the primary criterion in a particular
case ; but, if we can find a conviction upon any point
from which mankind has never receded, we may trust
to that conviction as a criterion of what is natural to
man and apply it as a substitute for the primary
criterion, A practical example would be the ever-
abiding conviction of the human race of the necessity
of marriage for mankind — as opposed to promiscuous
relationship.

But, reliable as this criterion is, it has not the strength
of the first of our derivative criteria, for between human
convictions and nature there is no deep-set metaphysical
relation such as exists between nature and the general
well-being of the race. This criterion, like that depend-
ing on the consequences, does not belong to the same
sphere of being as the action whose morality we judge

•"Let us remember," writes Aristotle ("Politics," II., 5, ifi),
" that we should not disregard the cxpcric icc of ages ; in the multitude
of years these things, if they were good, would certainly not have
been unknown." He is speaking of community of goods.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 155

by means of it. In other words, the present criterion
is extrinsic* It is clearly also subjective.

(3) THE THIRD DERIVATIVE CRITERION — " THE MORAL
FEELINGS "

The last of the derivative criteria of which we shall
take account is that of moral feeling, or the feeling of
rightness. We shall see later on that these feelings
cannot be the ultimate criterion of Ethics, Still, the
moral feelings are sometimes a guide to right moral
action and a criterion of the same. There are large
departments of human conduct where the unsupported
conscience or intellectual judgment would be slow to
carry on the mass of men to ac tion, even where action
is necessary for human life ; and in such cases we are
often helped on by the approval of our moral feelings,
which are then to some extent a criterion of good and
evil. People do often experience these indefinable
feelings, particularly when their nature is not blunted
by habitual crime. Persistence in crime makes our
conscience coarse and irresponsive, whereas the very
suggestion of certain acts frightens good people and
excites in them feelings of disapproval, even though
the Reason cannot say why the act which is done is
wrong. These feelings may generally be trusted as
true, for, being excited in us immediately by acts either
directly witnessed or directly imagined, they are quite
as likely to answer to the true objective moral quality
inherent in those acts, the quality which calls the
feelings into existence, as would a formal judgment
resulting from reasoning and analysis. Our reasonings
are largely under our own control and they are liable

* If these convictions were accompanied by reasons, then these
reasons would be our criterion, and we should have no need to regard
the convictions of the race as themselves a criterion ; but since the
seasons, are, as a rule, not formally given with the conviction, and
rince the convictions are still there to be appealed to, we have every
right to call these convictions a criterion, though secondary.

156 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sometimes to be coloured and prompted by a sense of
our own interests rather than by the simple appreciation
of truth. But the feelings which we use as criteria of
morality are not properly speaking under our control.
They are therefore all the more likely to be disinterested.

Still, we must be careful not to value these feelings
too highly as criteria. For, first, their want of definition
and their unstable character make their application as a
rule uncertain. Again, these feelings often relate not to
the lawfulness but rather to the indelicacy of acts. But
not all acts that are indelicate or coarse are unlawful.
For instance, the more delicate natures sometimes recoil
from vivisection and hunting, but on sesthetic grounds
only, or, at all events, on grounds other than moral.
Again, these feelings are often the result of judgments
already made — judgments, viz., in which the other moral
criteria are applied roughly and quickl}', and, therefore,
these feelings, being themselves the result of moral
judgments, cannot serve as the criteria on which to
form our judgments. Again, where the issues are very
complicated, as is often the case with questions of
justice, such feeUngs may be the result of a certiiin
tenderness of conscience which recoils from what ap-
proaches even remotely to sin and tends generally to
be on the side which is morally safest. In these cases
a man should rely as far as possible on the " sicca lux
intellectus," without any reference to inner feelings of
approbation or blame.

We should, therefore, be careful not to exaggerate the
importance of these moral feelings as moral standards.
Yet they have some value, and are sometimes a real
help to us in forming our moral judgments. ]\Ien
sometimes say : "I cannot see why such an act is
unlawful, but I don't like the look of it," and in many
cases we may trust such natural feelings. With these
limitations we admit the feelings amongst our secondary
criteria. Manifestly they can only be secondary and
extrinsic, and tlio certainty they yield is not easily

THE MORAL CRITERIA 157

determinable — in general it is not above a high degree
of probability. This criterion, like the common con-
victions, is, we need not say, purely subjective.

SOME GENERAL REMARKS ON THE CRITERIA

We have now shown that there is but one primary
and fundamental moral criterion, and that there are
many secondary criteria, and that the business of these
latter is to help us to know good and evil when the
application of the primary criterion is impossible or
inconvenient.

There may be other criteria of morals besides those
we have enumerated. But the certitude attaching to
them, if any such exist, cannot be of a high order, and,
therefore, we shall not deal with them.

It will be noticed that in our list of criteria we sub-
scribe to a very large extent to s^-stems that are usually
regarded as quite irreconcilable. We have found a
place for many points in such opposing theories, as
those of Aristotle, Mill,* De Lamenais, Cumberland, f
Shaftesbury, J Adam Smith, § Kant,l! ^^^^ Martineau.^
And we have done so, not through any desire to recon-
cile these theories, but simply because we are persuaded
that there is some truth in these systems. They are
all partial systems presenting to us one or more aspects
of human nature. What each one of the writers men-
tioned regards as the fundamental criterion is, to a
large extent, at least a criterion. But it is not the
fundamental criterion, because it does not represent
what is essential in natural goodness. But it is worthy
of remark that it is because there is some truth, and

* Hedonistic Utilitarianism.

f Utilitarian theory based on psychology of the faculties.

X /Esthetic Ethics — the good is the beautiful or the orderly. See
section " III." of primary criterion.

§ Theory of feelings as moral criterion.

II Act good, which is possible for all humanity. Compare first
derivative criterion.

H Theory of hierarchy of impulses. Compare section " III." of
primary criterion.

158 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

often a good deal of truth, in these opposing systems
that there is so much agreement in the moral codes
with which they severally supply us. This practical
agreement amongst Ethicians, in spite of theoretical
differences, is not to be explained as a result of dis-
honest " squaring." No doubt, there has been some
unconscious forcing done, so as to get these various
systems into harmony with the code that already ob-
tains in the world. But we believe that there is a good
deal of genuine truth in all of them, and our reason is
that many of these criteria are to a large extent valid
as standards of morality. We cannot, therefore, at all
subscribe to that charge of wholesale dishonesty which
we find at least insinuated in Mr. Balfour's " Founda-
tions of Belief " * : " This unanimity (in the moral
code), familiar though it be, is," he writes, " surely
very remarkable, and it is the more remarkable because
the unanimity prevails only as to conclusions and is
accompanied by the widest divergence of opinion with
regard to the premisses on which these conclusions are
supposed to be founded. Nothing but habit could
blind us to the strangeness of the fact that the man
who believed that morality is based on a priori prin-
ciples and the man who believes it to be based on the
commands of God, the transcendentalist, the theologian,
the mj'stic and the evolutionist, should be pretty well
at one both as to what morality teaches and as to the
sentiments with which its teaching should be regarded.
It is not my business in this place to examine the
Philosophy of morals or to fnd an answer to the
charge which this suspicious harmony of opinion among
various schools of moralists appears to suggest — namely,
that in their speculations they have taken current
morality for granted, and have squared their proofs to
their conclusions, and not their conclusions to their
proofs."

• Page 14 (oinl)tli edition). We liave already referred briefly to
this passf.ge in Chapter 1.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 159

This, as we have said in the opening chapter, is a
serious charge, and one that ought not to be made
without serious consideration. We find it hard to
imagine the great leading intellects of the world lend-
ing themselves to the unprincipled method of squaring
proofs and principles to conclusions — conclusions that,
so far as these ethicians are concerned, have nothing
else to recommend them, Mr. Balfour tells us, than that
they represent the moral code that now most widely
obtains in the world. No doubt, men may be deluded
into imagining here and tnere a connection between
principle and conclusion that really does not exist. But
delusion cannot be universal, and dishonest squaring is
not to be thought of. Nor is there any need for sus-
pecting either one or the other. Criteria the most
divergent may be, and in fact are often, true together.
Amongst our secondary or derivative criteria we have
found room for widely divergent standards, for the
simple reason that human nature, which is our funda-
mental standard of morals, is many-sided, and, there-
fore, can be tested in many ways. The several criteria
offered by various writers as primary will be found to
be false in many details, but their principal defect Ues
in this — that they are represented by ethicians as funda-
mental criteria instead of as derivative — and the systems
founded on them as adequate systems of morality instead
of as parts of one whole.*

* At the conclusion of the chapter on the moral criteria we desire
to say a word regarding a supposed criterion of morality. Some have
regarded the golden mean as a criterion of morality. But it is not,
we claim, a distinct criterion, and we have, therefore, deferred the
treatment of it to a later chapter — that, viz., on the Virtues. The
golden mean is in one sense a quality of all moral action. For all
virtue lies between extremes. Justice is a mean between excess and
defect in giving each his own. Temperance is a mean between over-
indulgence in pleasure and a too rigid asceticism. But in these cases
the mean is not a criterion of morality, because it does not tell us what
acts are good or just or temperate. It supposes the moral judgment
already made, for, it being once determined that a certain act is good,
we can then go on to show that this act is a mean — that is, that vice
lies on either side of it. It is when we have already found the right
road to a town that we conclude that this road is the mean, or, in other

i6o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(i) The theory that nature, or natural end, is the
primary standard of morals is reviewed by Sidgwick in
his " Methods of Ethics " ; and we take it that the
criticism that he there gives represents fairly well the
mind of English ethicians generally on this subject of
Natural Morals, first, because of the weight which
attaches in England to any view of Sidgwick, and,
secondly, because in his attack on the theory of Natural
Morals he gives prominence to the very ditliculty which
we should expect Englishmen to emphasise — namely,
the practical difficulty in our theory of distinguishing
between the natural and non-natural in human action.

The theory of Natural Morals, he tells us, presupposes
design in nature, and by nature in the present instance
he means the system of natural human impulses. From
a consideration of these natural impulses the theory of
Natural Morals claims, he says, to be able to establish
the various duties imposed by the moral law on men, a
claim which Sidgwick regards as impossible and even
contradictory. " In fact," he writes,* " those who use
' natural ' as an ethical notion do commonly suppose
that by contemplating the actual play of human im-
pulses or the physical constitution of man or his social
relations we may find principles for determining posi-
tively and completely the kind of life he was designed
to live. I think, however, that every attempt thus to
derive ' what ought to be ' from ' what is ' palpably
fails the moment it is freed from fundamental con-
words, that to move any other way will lead us astray. In one sense,
however, we can look on the golden mean as a criterion, but as a
criterion it falls in with the primary criterion given in the present
chapter — viz., the criterion of " man — an ordered hierarchy of im-
pulses." In that sdnse the golden mean signifies the maintenance of
organic equilibrium in man — the not allowing one part of the organism
to run away with all, or unduly to obscure any other part. Not being
• distinct criterion, therefore, the golden mean cannot be specially
considered in the present chapter.

• " Methods," page 8i.

THE MORAL CRITERIA i6i

fusions of thought." Sidgwick then proceeds to explain
further why this attempt to deduce " what ought to
be " from the play of human impulses palpably fails in
the theory of Natural Morals. The difficulty is twofold :

(a) first, that when impulses are in conflict we cannot
tell which impulse is natural and which is not. Some,
he says, regard those impulses as natural which are
common to all men — a view which appears to Sidgwick
absurd since there is no evidence that " Nature abhors
the exceptional." Others regard those impulses as
natural which are original and underived — a position
which, according to Sidgwick, seems equally irrational
with the first, since there is no evidence to show that
Nature " prefers the earlier in time to the later."

(b) Secondly, the attempt to deduce " what ought to
be " from the consideration of natural impulses assumes
what is false — namely, that " Nature eschews as un-
natural and opposed to the Divine design" all such
impulses as are produced in us by the " institutions of
Society by our use of human arrangements and con-
trivances, or that result in any way from the deliberate
action of our fellow-men."

Our answer to Sidgwick's difficulty will consist in
showing (i.) that there is a genuine distinction between
" natural " and " unnatural," a distinction which is
implicitl}^ questioned in his argument ; (ii.) secondl}',
taking up the two express points of the difficulty given
above, we shall show [a) that there is no a priori diffi-
culty such as is conceived by Sidgwick against our dis-
tinguishing in practice between natural and unnatural
impulses ; and (b) that the unwarrantable assumption
which Sidgwick attributes to us, viz., that " Nature
eschews as opposed to the Divine design " all institu-
tions of Society, ^-c, is quite imaginary, and is no part
of the theory of Natural Morals.

(i.) Many Ethicians expressly deny what Sidgwick
implicitly calls in question — namely, the existence in
the Universe of any such distinction as that of
Vol. 1— u

i62 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

" natural " and " unnatural." According to these
Ethicians everything is natural, since everything is both
a part of nature and brought into being by natural
causes. Thus, a fallen tree is quite as natural, they
contend, as a living tree ; a sick animal as natural as
a healthy one ; an earthquake and all its evil conse-
quences as natural as the motion of the earth^ on its
axis ; the decay of winter as natural as the growth of
spring. How, then, they ask, can anything be called
imnatural ? Our reply is, that in one sense it is true
that everything is natural since everything (speaking
according to Reason) is both a part of nature and is a
result of natural causes. But things may be natural as
being the effect of natural efficient causes, and yet be
unnatural in another sense — namely, as failing to reach
their final natural end or cause. For all living things
have natural functions to perform, and, therefore, a
natural end to which they progress, and if they fail to
reach this end they have fallen short of the standard of
nature, and are to that extent unnatural. Thus, a
diseased heart is unnatural, not in the sense that the
disease is not due to natural efficient causes, but in the
sense that a bad heart falls short of nature's standard,
inasmuch as it cannot perform the natural functions of
a heart. It is in this sense that we speak of " un-
natural " in Ethics, and in this sense some human acts
are unnatural — namely, those that fall short of the
standard of human nature by opposing our natural
end.

(II.) (a) Sidgwick's main difficulty, however, docs not
lie in the admission of a real distinction between natural
and unnatural, but rather in determining which of our
impulses are natural and which are unnatural. And
the difficulty turns, in the first place, on the question
how one is to distinguish " natural " from " unnatural,"
considering that even the most abnormal and excep-
tional of impulses may be as natural as the common and
normal — " Nature does not abhor exceptions." Our

THE MORAL CRITERIA 163

answer to this first point is as follows : We determine
natural impulses in Ethics just as the physiologist de-
termines natural bodily functions — that is, by in-
ductively examining the impulses and functions, and
discovering what is permanent and necessary in them.
The physiologist determines the functions of the several
organs by examining the organs when actually at work,
and discovering their necessary and inseparable
activities, and the ends of these activities. He knows,
for instance, that all varieties of hearts have one action
in common — namely, to send blood through veins, that
all lungs inhale and exhale — and from this he concludes
that such and such are the natural functions of these
organs. Moreover he can mark off certain functions as
natural to heart and lungs even though he knows that
in the case of some hearts and lungs these activities
and functions are not properly exercised ; that is to
say, that some hearts and lungs are abnormal and ex-
ceptional. So, also, it is not right to argue in the sphere
of morals that because in nature there are to be found
abnormalities and exceptions, because nature does not
abhor exceptions, therefore the distinction between
natural and unnatural acts cannot be accepted.

Again, it is urged by Sidgwick that distinctions of
' earlier ' and * later ' furnish no clue to distinctions of
natural and unnatural since nature does not prefer the
earlier in time to the later. Now we have not claimed
that nature prefers the earlier to the later, but only that
in living things there are certain original and inseparable
functions, and that all action must harmonise with these
functions. Nature may not, indeed, prefer the earlier
to the later ; but we insist that she does prefer the
original to the artificial, and our claim that certain im-
pulses are primary and natural merely means that they
are original in our constitution, just as flowering and
shedding seed, though later activities in the plant, are
original possibilities of the plant, and natural. The
natural, even though it should manifest itself later in

i64 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

history, is always original in this sense. Nature, then,
may not prefer the earlier, but she prefers those acts
which do not oppose the original or natural purpose of
our capacities.

(6) As to Sidgwick's second point, our claim is that
the theory of Natural Morals does not " eschew as un-
natural and opposed to the Divine design " all im-
pulses that have been produced by society or by human
arrangement. For, according to the theory of Natural
Morals, not only the natural but also the State law has
a moral value — that is, its precepts are of moral obliga-
tion ; and, therefore, the theory of Natural Morals
recognises many things as good and in accordance with
the original design of things which 3'et are wholly the
result of human institution.

We shaU be asked, however, if the theory of Natural
Morals accepts the institutions of society as according
with Divine design, why does it avoid all mention of
them in its enumeration of natural goods. We answer
— institutions of Society are indeed natural, but only
in the sense of according with the laws of nature. Now
it should be remembered that even though a natural
appetite might be satisfied with a certain object or end,
yet it is only what is fundamental in the appetite that is
given as natural. The fundamental object of hunger is
food, not bread or fruit, and consequently, in the science
of Physiology, food is the only object that is guaranteed
to be a natural object without further question. It is
the same in Ethics. Just like particular kinds of food,
80 also the institutions of society must be shown to be
natural by rational proof, else we have no guarantee
that they arc good. It is through ignoring this obvious
distinction that Sidgwick fell into the mistake of sup-
posing that because in Ethics we do not mention the
social institutions as evident instances of natural good
that, therefore, Natural Morality eschews as unnatural
all that has been brought into being by Society.

(2) A aecond objection to the theory of Natural Morals

THE MORAL CRITERIA 165

is that human nature is not permanent, but is subject
to development, and, therefore, that it could not give
rise to those permanent laws \\hich are inculcated by
Natural Morals.

To this objection we reply — The theory of Natural
Morals does not claim that everything that belongs to
man by nature is unchangeable. The theory of Natural
Morals is consistent with the view that nature may
change considerably under the influence of environment
— for instance, that natural organs may change. The
only claim of the theory of Natural Morals in respect of
permanence is that just as certain chemical elements
have an unchangeable affinity for others, and just as a
plant has certain permanent and unchangeable needs —
for instance, the need of moisture — and animals certain
permanent conscious movements to certain objects — for
instance, the desire for food — so also in man there are
certain permanent appetites, some of which are common
to all substances, some to all animals, whilst others are
proper to man himself. This claim, we think, it is
scarcely possible seriously to dispute. The theory of
Natural Morals does, of course, allow that many of our
stable desires arise through the influence of certain
artificial conditions — for instance, the desire for cooked
food or for alcohol. But, then, the desire for cooked
food presupposes a natural appetite for food, and the
thirst for alcohol presupposes a natural appetite for
drink, and without such natural appetites such of our
desires as are accidental could not arise. Without them
also, as Leslie Stephen testifies, the race could not sur-
vive a generation. There are, then, in man permanent
natural appetites, and to that extent, at least, we are
justified in assuming the permanence of nature.

(3) Another common and obvious objection is that
the moral beliefs of man are variable, and that they
differ with different people, whereas if Morals be natural
our beliefs should be both invariable and maintained
bv all.

i66 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Now, this objection it is by no means easy to under-
stand, for it does not say why, in a theory of natural
morals, beliefs should be invariable and maintained by
aU. If it means that on this theory beliefs are innate,
and, therefore, common to all and invariable, then it
assumes what is not true, for the theory of Natural
Morals does not mean that we have natural innate
moral beliefs, but that there exist certain natural moral
laws founded on natural appetites. On the other hand,
if the point of the objection is that on a question of
natural law there is no room for uncertainty or error or
difference of view, then the supposition is negatived by
the physical sciences. For these deal with natural laws,
and yet our knowledge of these laws is subject to varia-
tion and difference of view. In the same way, there
may be differences concerning morals, even though the
moral law is natural. We claim, however, that on the
primary moral principles, opinions cannot and do not
vary, and this claim is borne out by Anthropology, as
will be shown in a later chapter.

One important modification of the present argument
— that is, the argument which concerns the divergence
of human opinion on moral matters — must be noticed —
namely, M. Levy-Bruhl's contention that that portion
of the moral law on which all are agreed consists almost
exclusively of empty formulae without content or
practical significance, whereas that in which they differ
embraces the whole practical content of the moral law.
Thus, the law or formula " neminem laede, suum
cuique " was the same, according to M. Levy-Bruhl,
in the days of the most ancient civilisations — Egyptian,
Assyrian, Babylonian — as it is to-day. But the content
of that law is not the same, since the " suum " and the
" neminem " vary from age to age ; for, first, the rights
of one time are not the rights of another, and, secondly,
there was a time when some men had no rights, whereas
to-day every man has rights.
Our reply is, first, tliat even if the content and appli-

THE MORAL CRITERIA 167

cation of the law were wholly changed, the law itself,
" neminem laede — suum cuique," is not an empty-
formula any more than the general laws of gravitation
and of electricity are empty formulae. No law is empty
merely because it is general. If the general laws were
all empty formulae there could be no science, since in
the case of the deductive sciences general laws are the
principles, and in the case of the inductive sciences they
are the end of the reasoning process. If, therefore, the
general laws are empty formulae all science is either
impossible or useless. Secondly, to a large extent these
general moral laws are exactly the same now in their
content and application that they always were. Thus,
the " suum " of Justice has not wholly changed — for
instance, from age to age and at all times the child has
a right to support and training. Also, it is not true
that at one time certain human beings had no rights.
The " neminem " of the law of justice means now and
always that " no snail's rights can be ignored." Thirdly,
it would be absurd to expect that the content of the
moral laws should continue always the same, considering
that the moral natural laws, and particularly the law of
Justice, are subject to many varying conditions ; and if
varying conditions can alter the effects of the natural
laws of Physics, and, so, give these laws a new and
varying content at different, ages, it is to be expected
that the content of the moral laws will vary also.
Again, as in Physics, so also in Ethics, the particular
conclusions that flow from the general principles are
such that it is not impossible men should err in their
judgments about them. It is, therefore, no disproof of
the theory of natural Morals that the content of the
general moral laws varies to some extent with conditions
of time and place.

(4) Another objection which we take from M. Levy-
Bruhl is that the theory of Natural Morals is only an
instance of that tendency of the human mind which
has been so fruitful of error in the domain of Physics,

i68 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

and which, we may suppose, must also mislead us in
the case of Morals — namely, the tendency to anthropo-
centrism, or the desire to regard man as the centre of
the universe and everything else in the universe as
directed to man. " Moral Anthropocentrism," M. Levy-
Bruhl defines * as a " spontaneous need (of the mind)
whereby we tend to arrange the facts and laws of the
world around the human conscience as their centre,
and to explain these facts and laws by means of con-
science " instead of regarding the facts and laws of the
world as the centre and the rule of action, and regulating
our consciences by means of them.

We reply that, as applied to the theory of Natural
Morals, the expression " moral anthropocentrism " is
entirely without foundation, f Anthropocentrism in
Morals means that the facts and laws of life are made
dependent on man. In the theory of Natural Morals,
on the contrary, we claim that man is dependent on
objective laws and ends, that conscience is formed by
an investigation of our natural appetites and their
objects, and the laws the}^ impose, that, therefore, these
laws are as independent of our consciences as the laws
of medicine are independent of the medical practitioner.
The natural appetites, then, are the rule of action, and
they are prior to our consciences and moral beliefs. The
appetites define our final end, and the final end, and not
man, is the centre to which man converges and on which
he depends. " Put aside," says M. L6vy-Bruhl, " the
theory of Moral Anthropocentrism and you at once get
rid of the postulate of final causes." On the contrary,
we claim — put aside the theory of Moral Anthropocen-
trism and you in that very act assume the existence of

• " La Morale ct la Science des Moeurs," page 204.

I M. L^vy-BruliI makes the mistake of supposing that in the
theory of Natural Morals and natural law our consciences and moral
beliefs are ^iven ready-made by nature, and that we do not require
to invcstJKate in order to arrive at a knowledge of good and evil.
" Cc mot (morale naturelle) si^nilie pour nous que toutc conscience
humaine rc(;oit par ccla seul qu'clle est humainc une lumifcre sp6ciale
qui hii d6couvro la distinction du bicn et du mal " (page 200).

THE MORAL CRITERIA 169

final causes, for if man be not the centre of the world
of moral relations, the centre or point of convergence of
all human activity must be found in some end beyond
man to which his appetites direct him. The theory of
Natural Morals, then, since it admits a final natural end
outside of and beyond man, is not a theory of " Mora!
Anthropocentrism . ' '

(5) Another difficulty is that " natural morality "
cannot account for differences in our individual duties.
For since nature is that portion of our constitution
which is common to all, pure natural morality must
necessitate a code of duty which is common to all.
But, it is contended, the duty of one man is not the
duty of another. Duty varies with circumstances of
time, place, and person ; and consequently morality
cannot be founded ultimately on nature or natural
appetites.

Reply — Natural morality is, as we have already
abundantly proved, common to all as regards a very
large portion of its precepts or duties, particularly the
negative precepts. But though this is true we still
claim that natural morality not only is compatible with,
but even necessitates differences of moral obligation de-
pending on circumstances of time, place, person, &c.
The causes of many of these differences are the follow-
ing : [a) Natural morality obliges to the fulfilment of
certain natural appetites which are common to all ;
but the conditions of the fulfilment of appetites are
different with different persons. (6) Many natural re-
lations on which are founded natural duties are not
realised in the case of all men, but only in some, (c)
The natural law itself which, were the circumstances
the same for all, would impose the same duty on all,
often makes express provision for circumstances which,
being contingent, are not the same in all. [d] Natural
laws are often applied in circumstances which entail a
conflict of duties, and in these cases duty must vary
with the circumstances.

170 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Thus (a) all men must satisfy their appetite for
eating, but the necessary quantity and quality of food
vary with the individual. Again, all men are naturally
bound to avoid drunkenness, but what will intoxicate
one man will not intoxicate another.

(6) The relations of husband to wife, of father to child,
of ruler to subject, of buyer to seller, from all of which
spring certain natural relations with corresponding
duties, are realised only in the case of some individuals,
and hence duty is not the same in all.

(c) The natural law of justice " give everyone his
own " makes the obvious condition " provided you are
able " a proviso which gives rise to great differences in
individual duty. The solvent man and the bankrupt
are very differently situated in regard to the require-
ments of natural justice. Again, the natural law " be
loyal to authority " supposes the condition " as long as
authority can be maintained," an addition that may
have different moral effects in time of war and in time
of peace, in the case of a competent ruler and in the
case of a fool.

{d) The natural duty of a subject to obey may often,
in the case of unjust or tyrannical government, come
into conflict with a man's natural right to property or
with his duty towards his family, and in these cases
there is room for wide differences in the resultant duty
of different individuals.

In general, then, the laws of nature, though common
to all, do not lead to the same duty in all. For our
natural appetites, though common to all, exist and work
in concrete circumstances, and the natural laws have
to be applied in concrete circumstances ; and, therefore,
just as the requirements of the human body vary
with the circumstances, though in all men the natural
functions of the several organs arc the same, so also the
moral requirements of individuals and of society may
vary with individuals though our specific appetites and
nature be the same.

THE MORAL CRITERIA 171

HISTORICAL NOTE

In his lectures on Kant,* Professor Simmel has some
interesting historical remarks on the question raised by
this last difficulty — namely, the place of the individual duty
in our ethical systems. The deepest and most important
problem of modern Ethics is, he tells us, that of finding
an adequate formula, if formula it might be called, for the
rich and varied morality of the individual life. Of modern
philosophers, according to Professor Simmel, the first to
lay stress on the dignity and value of individual morality
was Kant, who, in his theory of the Autonomy of Reason,
gave as the ultimate source of morality for each man not
a common law outside of individuals but the individual
conscience itself. However, he remarks that the individual
of which Kant spoke in his theory of Autonomy was not the
individual of the concrete world, with all its differentiating
marks and habits, but the " man," the individual " humanity,"
" das reine Ich," which, being the same in all, gave rise to a
similar law for all. Each man's good was, on the Kantian
theory, that which all men could desire, and each man's right
was that portion of the universal field of liberty which was
left to each when all liberties were equally provided for. It
was a theory of the absolute equality of men, a theory of
Liberalism in its purest and most unmodified form.

In the individualistic philosophies of the nineteenth cen-
tury which followed — those, namely, of Goethe, Schleier-
macher and the Romanticists — a new and still fuller con-
ception was given of individual law and individual ideals.
To bring all individuals, these philosophers explained, under
a common life-formula, to oblige them to the pursuit of a
common ideal, was to attempt the impossible. For, with
tlieir different talents, needs, and opportunities, men could
not in all things follow a common law or fulfil the same
ideal, and to expect them to do so would mean the suppres-
sion in them of much that was good and great — namely,
their individual perfections.

The Romanticist principle, then, though historically an
outcome of Kant's individualism, led, according to Professor
Simmel, to a very different conception of the rights and
duties of individuals from that of Kant. For in the Roman-
ticist principle provision was made for moral differences
depending on individual requirements and individual talents,

* " Kant — Sechzehn Vorlesungen gehalten an der Berliner Uni-
versitat," von Georg Simmel.

172 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

that is, provision was made for individual privileges, whereas
Kant's theory of the equal freedom of all men excluded
privilege. The one recognised the necessity of division of
labour according to innate differences of talent and power,
the other was a system of free and open competition among
men of equal initial rights.

The individualising movement of the Romanticists reached
its culminating point in Nietzsche. For Nietzsche the indi-
vidual was supreme, and society was but a means to the
individual. Its one function was to bring out the highest
worth of the individual personality, to make the highest
exemplars sovereign in the State. But, for Nietzsche, the
higher nature consisted not in works and their effects but in
the dignity of position and of political power (Rang-Distanz).

These two individualising systems — that of Kant in the
eighteenth century and of the Romanticists in the nineteenth
— Professor Simmel distinguishes by the names " quantita-
tive " and " qualitative " individualism. " Each em-
phasises," he says, " a particular ideal, and it almost seems
as if the deepest life-work of this century will be the synthesis
of these two."

We maintain, however, in opposition to Professor Simmel,
that the synthesis of the common law of humanity with
individual requirements has already been effected in the
philosoph}^ of Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas, and that
the formulae which Professor Simmel hopes to see soon syn-
thesised — that of Kant and that of the Romanticists — are
both merely one-sided exaggerations of the view we have
been following in this volume, and which we have taken
from Aristotle — namely, that the moral law, though grounded
in nature, is yet not the same for all, since the natural func-
tions depend largely upon individual circumstances. Still, it
is as " men " that we are moral, and, therefore, the radical
requirements or appetites on which morality depends, and
the primary moral principles that arise out of them, must be
the same for all.

(6) Finally, there is the difficulty which wc can
scarcely do more than notice here, that modern science
has so enlarged and enriched our views of nature that
our theory of Natural Morals, which, it must be con-
fessed, has come down to us comparatively unchanged
from the Greek philosophers, must, like so many other
ancient conceptions, be discarded as naive .ind primitive

THE MORAL CRITERIA 173

and as unsuited to our present complex view of nature,
whether of the material world or of human relations.
This growing complexity of our view of Nature has been
described b^- Professor W. H. Fairbrother in " Mind " *
as follows : —

" The conception of nature, however, in the mind of
the modern thinker has lost the simplicity which it
possessed in the early philosophy. Nature is still a
cosmos, an interrelated whole ; perfection is still con-
ceived as an equilibrium produced by proper perform-
ance of function by each part, but the equilibrium is no
longer a definite state which, once reached, is to last
for ever. . . . The equilibrium is a moving one. Pro-
gress consists not only in the tendency towards a state
of harmonious balance of forces, but also towards higher
stages of these successive rhythmic wholes. . . . We
can now see the inadequacy of the Greek conception of
the Ethical problem. Man is dynamic not static," &c.

Reply — We insist that any progress that has been
made in our knowledge of the practical requirements of
the several natural appetites must certainly be taken
account of in the system of Natural Morals. We are
not aware, however, that the new and larger views of
modern philosophers on the extent and complexity of
the natural relations have added much to our know-
ledge of the appetites and their objects, or given ua
ground for change in our moral beliefs. For, in the
first place, most of our knowledge about nature has
nothing whatsoever to do with the ethical problem.
Our newly-acquired knowledge of the chemistry of the
stars has nothing to do with our theory of the " good "
and of duty. For the " good " and duty have to do
with human nature only, not with nature in general,
and consequently the only study that has power to alter
or determine an ethical view is the stud}- of human
nature.

And not everything in human nature is of importance
* N. S., Vol. 13, page 38.

174 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to Ethics, but only the natural appetites. Our view,
for instance, of the good is not affected by our theoi}^
of the relation of imagination to sense or of the place of
certain arteries and bones in the bodily system. And
even in regard to the natural appetites themselves much
of our knowledge has no bearing on Ethics. Ethics is
a practical science, and, therefore, a man might obtain
much speculative knowledge about the origin of the
appetites and their relation to knowledge, without in the
least adding to his store of ethical knowledge, just as the
new Physiology has not added to our knowledge of how
to satisfy hunger, nor eradicated the old view of the
necessity of eating and drinking. For its first principles
Ethics has to do with only the practical requirements
of the natural appetites and with the laws of their
satisfaction. But science has added little to our know-
ledge in these respects ; the natural appetites are all
strongly-marked definite inclinations, which were as
well known to the ancient Greeks as they are to us,
and that is why the fundamental laws of Ethics were
the same in Greek Philosophy as in ours.

But to contend that in order to be able to determine
morality we should first determine the totality of the
relations that hold between our act and the rest of
human nature, would be like maintaining that an athlete
in order to run well should possess a perfect knowledge
of the laws of Dynamics. Our growing knowledge of
Dynamics has not made us better runners than the
Greeks were. There is no a priori reason why every
addition to our knowledge of human nature should
give us a more perfect knowledge of our rights and
duties.*

• The reader may ask why " right Reason " has not been enumerated
as one of the moral criteria, considering that Aristotle and St. Tiiomas
make appeal to it so frequently, as determining " good " and " evil."
The reason is that " right Reason " could not be used by itself as a
criterion of goodness, for we can know that Reason is right only by
comparing it with the appetites and their objects which therefore, and
not " right Reason," arc the criteria by wliicli we finally judge of right
and wrong. Let us suppose for a uiomunt that " right Reason " were

CHAPTER VI
FREEDOM AND MORALITY

" Ibi incipit genus maris ubi primo dominium voluntatis invenitur."
St. Thomas Aquinas 2, dist, 21, q. 3, a. 2.

In the course of the present chapter we shall treat of the
following points : {a) What is freedom ? {h) What is
the ground of freedom ? or how is the will free ? (c) Of
the extent of freedom ; {d) The consequences of free-
dom ; [e) Other views of the nature of freedom.

{a) What is freedom, or, to make the question more
specific still, what do we mean when we say that the
will is free ? The popular answer would be — the will is
free when it is not determined to any one course of
action, or when it is antecedently {i.e., prior to its act)
indifferent to many courses. And for the general pur-
poses of Ethics such a definition might well suffice — it
is certainly true so far as it goes. But the problems
raised by modern ethicians make it incumbent on us to
look a little more deeply still into the meaning of free-
dom. In the conception of freedom there are two
distinct moments or stages — one negative, the other
positive. The n&gaiive moment is that of indeter-

a criterion. The question would then most obviously arise — but when
is Reason right ? To this question we have Aristotle's answer :
" The function," he writes (N. E., VI. 2) " of the practical Reason is
the apprehension of truth in agreement with right desire {tov M irpaKTiKoD
Kal SiavorjTiKou r] dX-qdeia o/noXdryuv ^x"""'* ''~U <5pfs" '''V op^v)- Right desire
therefore is the ultimate criterion. In his commentary on the fore-
going passage St. Thomas finely explains that the end of action is
detennined by nature, but the means to it are discovered by
Reason ; and therefore, though the practical Reason is a rule of action,
in so far as it tells us what means will lead to a certain end, still the
means are not right, and the practical Reason which recommends
them is not right, imless the end to which the means lead is right,
" from which it follows," writes St. Thomas, " that in regard to the
end, rightness of appetite is the criterion by which we judge of rightness
in the practical Reason."

175

176 THE SCIE^XE OF ETHICS

minateness — antecedent indeterminateness of the will
both from within and from without. These terms we
must explain. Indeterminateness from within means
that the will is n^t determined hy its nature to any act.
Indeterminateness from without means that no object
outside the will compels the will. The first of these
really reduces to the second, because, since the will
must always wish for ends or objects beyond itself, to
be determined by its own inner nature, means to be
compelled by nature to desire some known object, If,
therefore, the will is determined by nature, it is the
object, properl}^ speaking, that overcomes the will,
but it overcomes the will from the very nature of the
will. Indeterminateness of will, therefore, means in
general that it cannot he compelled by any object. This
is negative freedom. The positive moment is that of
self-determination or a power inherent in the w'ill to
direct itself to any end.

Let us take these two moments separately. Negative
freedom means antecedent indetermination [of the will].
Any object may exert an attractive influence on the
will, but none can finally overmaster the will. Between
exerting an attractive influence on the will and irre-
sistibly moving it to action there is a very great dif-
ference. Thus, I suggest to a friend to walk out into
the sunshine. The prospect pleases him, attracts him ;
yet hiH will may remain quite undetermined. And it
may remain undetermined as long as the person wishes
to be undetermined. The motion or determination of
a will which is antecedently undetermined follows on ^^|i
the issuing to itself of the final fiat, and that fiat can be
withheld for any length of time and against anj^ object.
The v^ill must, of course, move to objects of some kind,
but in the case of freedom it is the will itself that de-
termines the object that is finally to prevail. Now,
rBesides the human will there are other things also that
can resist the influence of outer forces. They have
what we call inertia, which is nothing else than the

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 177

power to offer resistance to any force that results, or
tends to result, in change. But there is all the difference
in the world between the inertia of material bodies and
t^ indeterminateness of the will. For, in the first
place, the force that moves a body must reach a certain
degree of strength before motion becomes possible,
whereas any object can move the will (though not irre-
sistibly), no matter how insignificant, provided only it
rises above the threshold of our consciousness. Secondly,
the force that tends to move a body, but cannot succeed
in doing so, bears at least some proportion to that
force which will finally succeed in effecting the required
movement. It is (and this could be said even ante-
cedently to the effect) a third or a fourth part or some
other fraction of the force that will finally be able to
overcome the inertia of and move the body. It is a
part, therefore, of the force that will of necessity result
in action, and it has consequently only to be increased
sufficiently in order to produce the required effect. In
the case of the will, on the other hand, though particular
motives may exert their influence, they neither move
the will irresistibly to action, nor do they bear any
proportion to the force that must of necessity overcome
the will. They may be increased to any extent, and
may still be resisted by the will. A motive and an
irresistible motive are not the same. That which the
will desires is always a motive urging to action. But a
particular motive cannot prove irresistible to a free
will. Indeterminateness, then, means that no particular
object, no matter how great, can prove irresistible to
the will.

But though the will is not determined by any par-
ticular ' good ' it must choose some ' good,' and what-
ever it chooses it must choose it under the aspect of a
good. The will therefore though free in regard to par-
ticular goods is determined in regard to its final object,
the good-in-general and the infinite, which comprises in
itself the w^hole content of the good-in-general. We
Vol. I— 12

178 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

\ thus see that the freedom of the will extends only to
the choice of means leading to the final end — it is de-
termined in regard to the final end.

The positive moment in freedom is that of self-deter-
mination. It is the will that finally determines itself
to select this or that particular means as leading to the
final end. And in this connection the question arises
of the manner in which the \yill determines jtself, or —
what IS the psychological mechanism empoye3. We
rnswer — the will can determine itself by determining

/ the practical judgments of the intellect, which in turn
act upon the will and move it to action. We act, in
the case of deliberate movement, only in response to

— the practical judgment of our own intellect telling us
" this is the thing to be done." And as it is the free
will that determines the intellect to elicit this judgment
(how, we shall presently enquire) the free wiU, in de-
termining the practical judgment of the intellect, is
properly speaking, the cause also of its own act — it is
self-caused,* and self-determined. " Liberum," says St.
Thomas, " Qst_id quod est causa,.j8ui-" The will is free
when it is the cause of its own action. This is the
positive moment in the conception of freedom.

Now, some philosophers have maintained that to be
antecedently determined to an action by inner nature —
to be necessitated by our inner nature — is to be deter-
mined by ourselves, and, therefore, to be free. But our
contention is that to be the cause of our own act — that
is, to be free — and to be determined to an action by
inner nature are contradictory conceptions. For a
natural tendency, or a tendency that arises out of inner
nature, that follows of necessity' from nature, must be
present in a subject from the moment that that subject
begins to exist, and consequently such a tendency
cannot be set up within the subject by the subject itself,
or in the case of the will b}- the will itself, but is placed
there by whatever agency produced the subject or the
* In the sonBO that the act of ths will is caused by the will itself.

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 179

will, and ^ave to it its nature. And as no finite thing
can be the cause of its own nature; so nothing can be
the cause of its own natural or necessary desires. To
be free we must be, as Aristotle says, " masters of our
own acts from beginning to end " {(Itt' u/^x^l^ m«XP' toitcAoi-s
Kvpioi). And again, a free act must proceed from no
other source than those that depend on ourselves

(uv . . . £is dAAa? dpx<'-'i Trapa ra-; €(/>' 771111', — Nich. Eth.

III. 5.)-

To be free, then, it is not sufficient that a movement
comes from within our wills or that it be psychological.
To be free a movement must he placed within the will by
the agency of the will itself, and not by causes other than
the will, e.g., by nature. The work done by an explod-
ing shell proceeds, indeed, from within the shell. Still,
the shell is not a free agent, because the energy that it
sends forth was previously " given " in its chemical^
and these chemicals were not placed there by the agency
of the shell itself, but by another who made it.

Freedom, therefore, or the causation of our own act,
supposes antecedent indeterminateness of the will, which!
excludes, first, negatively, previous determination by \
object, secondly, previous determination by the very \
nature of the will or by any quality or disposition of
nature not controlled by will, both of which conditions
may be expressed by saying that the sum of the exist-
ing conditions at any particular moment does not of
necessity imply the action of the next. Freedom also
supposes, positivel}^ that the will can bring about its
own states or desires independent 1}- of previous con-
ditions.

CRITICISM OF SOME OTHER VIEWS

{a) Freedom is not the same as " psychologically deter-
mined action, or the power to act in accordance with the
considered choice of ends " (Wundt). In the working out of
this view Wundt maintains that in order to establish the
freedom of the will {in his sense) it is enough to show that

i8o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

actions of the will depend not upon physiological but upon
psychological conditions — that is, upon knowledge — and
that consequently every psychologically determined action is
free. But there can be acts psychologically conditioned
which yet are not free — for instance, the desire for happiness.
Freedom entails more than mere knowledge or will. For
freedom an act must be antecedently undetermined whether
from within or from without ; and the will must cause its
own desire.

{h) Freedom is not the same as " causal energy of the
will " (Calderwood). For, freedom contains more than mere
causation. The will could be causal without being self-
caused in the sense of determining itself to its acts, just as
the stone thrown at the window is causal in reference to
the breaking of the glass, whilst at the same time it does
not determine itself to that effect. Freedom is Sd'//-causation,
in sense of self-determination to action.

(c) Neither is freedom " motiveless volition " (Hamilton),
or, as Kant defines it, the " utter abnegation of every desire "
— i.e., of every end outside the will. No act of the will is
motiveless. Every act of the will is a desire for some end,
and freedom is the capacity of the will to follow from itself
alone any motive that may come before it rather than any
other. To will without following some motive or object
would be like walking without a direction.

{d) Freedom is not " the inactive influence of motives "
(Reid). A motive, according to Reid, may influence the
will to act but does not itself act. But, that motives are
themselves active, even in cases in which we are usually
accounted free, is evident from the fact that the will has
often to resist the motives of action in order to set them aside.

{e) Freedom is not " causeless volition " * (Wundt). A
free act, in sense of self-determination is caused both finally
and efficiently — finally, since the will must choose from
amongst the many ends or motives acting on it, and
efficiently because the will is itself the efficient cause of its
own act.

(/) Freedom is not " a purely negative contentless con-
cept " (Hartmann), for besides the negative moment of

• Gimpare this with (a) above. Wundt argues that froodom, in our
sense of antccodcntly indiUiTiniiicd action, is a causeless volition, and,
therefore, an impossible conception. The proper sense of freedom is,
he maintains, that of an act psychologically determined, in which
sense it is a genuine property of will. We show above that freedom of
the will is neither psychological determination nor causeless volition.

FREEDOM AND MORALITY i8i

freedom — the moment, namely, of indeterminability by par-
ticular ends — there is also the positive moment of " self-
determination," the power of the will to control and rnle
itself, to direct itself to the pursuit of any end.

(6) The Proof and Ground of Freedom

The proof of freedom belongs, properly speaking, to
Psychology.* We shall here adduce but one argument
for freedom — namely, that argument which, besides
being proof, gives also the psychological ground of
freedom.

First, as regards the negative side of freedom. The
will is undetermined in respect of particular objects
because no particular good can bg regarded as indis-
pensable to the will. The natural end of the will is the
good-in-general, and that end is present to the will in
every particular desire. Hence, let any particular object
come up before the will as end, there are always other
rival objects there, contained under this general con-
ception of the good-in-general, and these rival objects
make the original object or objects dispensable and un-
necessary. Thus, to take an example of a particular
object, a man may think of goin^ into the country.
He is drawn on to do so by the attractive power of
fresh air, health, and amusement. Were going to the
country the only idea before the will, the will should,
perhaps, be overmastered and determined by that
idea. But this is only one of the many goods contained
under the more general end — " the good or the pleasant-
in-general " — which is the proper and adequate object
of the will, and which is present to the will in every act.

♦ The proof given here consists in showing that in the will the con-.
ditions and machinery, or what we call the ground of freedom, are
present. The arguments from introspection and common consent,
on which some philosophers rely exclusively for their proof of freedom,
are seen to have great weight, at least when taken in conjunction
with the above.

i82 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

and the possibility of following out any one of these
many rival ends removes the indispensabilit}' of the
original desire. Except, therefore, the infinite good
there is, no single object or desire which can completel}^
overmaster the human will, and this indeterminateness
is what we mean by negative freedom.

Again, the will must in every action desire the
" good." It cannot wish evil or defect as such — this
is its only natural limitation. Now, the only object
that presents to the will no element of defect is the
Infinite Good, and bonum in universali, and, therefore,
the Infinite cannot be resisted by our wills. But every
finite object embodies either what is or what the will
may regard as a defect — the defect, namely, of ex-
cluding some good — and since the will can just fix the
attention of the intellect upon that defect, and regard
the object just in that aspect of excluding a good, it
follows that a finite object may always be rejected by
the will as evil. Hence no finite object can determine
the will.

-- The positive moment of freedom has as its ground the
■ control by the will of the practical judgments of the
intellect. The will is able to reverse or accept any of
the particular practical judgments, and to determine by
what judgment it itself is finally to be moved. This is
positive freedom. Now, the order obtaining between
intellect and will in reference to our action is, as we
know from experience, the following : (i) The forma-
tion by the intellect of a practical, which, as we have
seen, is also a contingent, judgment. (2) Reflection by
intellect on the contingency of this judgment and an
intimation given to the will that it is good or bad to
sustain and follow this judgment, or to upset it, and
substitute a new judgment for it. (3) Selection by the
will of one particular practical judgment at its own
choice.

Let us now examine these steps in greater detail nnd
see how they stand in relation to intellect and will.

FREEDOM AND MORALiiY 183

We will take our previous example — tlic judgment " I
must go to the country." To faculi' '■' ■ "^*- ' t

and will, that have as their constant :i-

general and the good-in-general, this jiKl^mQnt^JjjjPlpwst
go to the country " at once suggests the other — " I
must not go to the country," or " I must stay at home."
This is the first step in the human act. Now, neither of
these two judgments—" I must go " or "I must stay "
— is a necessary judgment, because in the practical
sphere the only absolutely necessary judgment is " that
the good is to be done," which judgment embodies as
subject the " good " or the good-in-general, which is
the only adequate object of the will. Since, therefore,
neither of the other particular judgments — " I must go "
or " I must stay " — is an adequate object for the will,
the intellect is not over-borne or determined by them,
and remains in regard to them in a state of suspense or
indifference. Now, as we know from experience, an
intellectual faculty is capable of reflection, and in re-
flecting on these judgments the intellect must of neces-
sity realise their contingent and unnecessary character.
But to realise their contingency is to find them re-
versible, and, therefore, it is as reversible that these
judgments are presented to the will. This is the second
step in the process of the human act. Now, the will
is essentially a moving faculty, one that moves the other
powers to their ends, and therefore it is that, finding the
intellect neutral, and therefore movable or detertninable as
regards its two judgments, the will is able to move the
intellect to the adoption of either of them according to
the will's own choice. This is the third and final step
in the process of freedom, the determining of the judg^
ments whereby it is itself to be moved. And this power
of determining the practical judgments of the intellect
may be exercised by the human will not only in cases
in which the motives happen to be equal but also in
cases in which the motives are unequal. One object
ipay be more attractive than the other, either because

iSi tin: science of ethics

of mor-e iubereni goodness or because it better suits oui
pers«Q character and wants. Still, there stands the
V. ill, master of the judgments of the intellect, and able
to nn'erse them according to its own choice and to
men (^ the intellect to the acceptance of any one of them.
It is in its power to determine that judgment which it
is itself to follow that the will is spoken of as self-
determined and free. But, as we have said, it deter-
mines itself not immediately and directly but through
a practical judgment of its own selection.

The ground of freedom, then, is the relation obtaining
between the universal and the particular judgments of
the intellect ; but an essential requisite of freedom —
and what we might caU the hinge of freedom — is our
power of reflection on our own judgments and of
realising their contingenc}^ and it seems to us that
it is upon this power to return upon, to reflect upon our
own judgments (de sue judicio judicare *) that St.
Thomas lays most stress in his exposition and proof
of freedom.f

* " Dc Veritate," Q. XXIV., Art. 2.

f The reader should remember that much of what we have above
written on the mutual inter-relation of will and intellect is matter of
ordinary experience. Experience tells us, for instance, that we are
finally moved to action by the practical judgments of the intellect,
and also that the will has power to influence these judgments. The
further question — how the will has this power and how far the power
extends — can only be known through a comparison of the natural
and necessary object of the will (the good -in-general) with the objects
of particular judgments, as shown above.

It is interesting to compare St. Thomas Aquinas' view on the
ground of freedom with that of recent transcendental ists. St. Thomas
bases the freedom of the will on the relation that subsists between
will and Reason, and on the fact that Reason has as its object bcing-
in-general and not any particular kind of being. Modern transcen-
dentalists ba.sc freedom on the relation of the self to it.'s desires — on
the existence in man of a permanent, universal self distinct from and
above particular desires (.see Seth, " Ethical Principles," p. 375). On
the Scliolastic view the ground is Rca.son and will, having as objects
IJcing and the good-in-gencral. On the Transcendentalist view the
ground is the universal self .'is director and centre of all particular
(icsircs. The two most striking weaknesses in the transcendentalist
theory arc, first, that to transcendentalists generally the " self " is
not a mibstance. It must then be either a faculty or simply a bundle
u£ habits. If it is a faculty the transcendentalist theory is only a

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 185

Before proceeding to determine the extent of freedom,
we must enquire — Over what faculties does the free will
exercise a mastery, and how far ? The question is most
important for our present enquiry, and we must give at
least a general answer to it. (i) The free will controls,
in the first place, all the judgments of the intellect except
such as are analytic or self-evident. It does not extend
to the judgment that " the good is to be done," nor to
such axiomatic judgments of the speculative intellect as
that " the whole is greater than the part," that " two
and two are four," or that " nothing can be a thing and
its contradictory at the same time." These and such
judgments control the intellect, and the will has no
power to suspend our acceptance of them or to reverse
them. (2) The free will to a large extent controls atten-
tion. There are very few things on which a man cannot
at will bestow or refuse to bestow his attention, and it
is by giving or refusing attention to objects that we
are able to increase or to counteract their effect upon
our appetites. (3) The will can control the senses, but
only indirectly. If the eye be open it cannot refrain
from seeing. But the free will can in normal cases
close the eye, and consequently control the sense.
(4) The will has no power over the vegetative facult}^
Growth and digestion are in no way dependent on a
man's will, granted a sufficient supply of food and
health. (5) The motor faculty is to a large extent
under a man's control — how far it is not easy to say.
Physiology does, indeed, distinguish between voluntary
and involuntary muscles, and even attempts a physio-
logical explanation of why some movenfents are subject

weaker form of the " Scholastic " view. If it is a bundle of habits
merely or what is usually known as character, we cannot see how it is
related to the particular desires as universal is related to particular,
since character is particular. Secondly, if the ground of freedom is a
self, distinct from our passing desires, then animals are free as well
as men, since they also are selves distinct from their desires. However
a full discussion of this subject belongs not to Ethics but to Psychology

i86 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to will and others are not by marking out a structural
difference in the two classes of nerves connected with
these muscles. But as yet we have had no satisfactory
explanation on the point, and merely know that while
some movements are capable of being controlled by
will others are independent of our control. We walk,
speak, and move the eyes at will. On the other hand,
the heart beats independently of our wills. We can
neither stop it directly nor set it on.

This is an indication in outline of the extent of the
control which the will exercises over our faculties, and
from it we may determine the extent of freedom. For,
having proved that the will is free, it follows that it is
free in its control of the faculties we have just men-
tioned, and that the acts of these faculties are also free,
as coming under the control of the will. Freedom,
therefore, extends, in the first place, to every act of
will except the desire for our last end ; secondly, to
the acts of the other faculties in so far as they come
under the control of will.

Passing from the question which faculties are and
which are not under the control of a free will, and
what acts may or can be free, we further ask concern-
ing the ordinary daily exercises of our free faculties
how many such exercises are free ? When consciously
and deliberately performed they are, of course, aU free.
But then we know by experience that most acts are
done without much thought and deliberation, and the
question, therefore, arises — ^Is it necessary, in order that
an act be free, that a formal and protracted delibera-
tion should precede it ? We answer — for freedom it is
not necessary that a fornlal deliberation or choice of
alternatives should precede our acts. It is not even
necessary that the alternatives should come distinctly
before the mind. It is enough if even the negative of
the action presents itself to consciousness and in the
most confused manner and momentarily. And this
negative of the original judgment is suggested to us in

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 187

nearly ever case, and is practically always within the
border-line of our consciousness. Hence those philo-
sophers * are quite in error who maintain that most of
our daily actions are not free, on the ground that they
are not preceded by a lengthy or a formal deliberation,
and because we do not at each moment make conscious
choice between one course of action and another, and
])ecause most men allow themselves to drift — that is,
to take the line of least resistance, except when there
are special reasons for exercising special control. Our
contention is that the ordinary acts of the day, even
what are called the unthinking acts, are practically all
free, because there is sufficient thought and deliberation
in them to make them free. Confusion in our thought
may lessen freedom. It could scarcel}^, except in very
extreme cases, remove it altogether.

The consideration of. objections to freedom properly
belongs to Metaphysics or Psychology, not to Ethics. Here,
however, on account of its importance in recent philosophy,
we wish to touch upon just one objection — that, namely,
which concerns the law of the Conservation of Energy. It is
an objection that we believe is based upon a misconception,
for it really tells not against freedom but against " will,"
and, therefore, is as much a difficulty for the Determinist as
for the Libertarian. It may be stated thus : — If a man
freely moves a limb, he has to expend energy in doing so.
Now, just as when I strike the table with my hand, the
energy that appears in the table as heat must necessarily
have come from the cause of the action — my hand — so also
the energy that moves the limb must come ultimately from
that which causes the motion — namely, our will. The cause
of the act loses energy, the recipient gains it. Hence, since
in free acts the will is the initial cause of all, the energy of
all such material acts as come under the control of free will
must, in this theory of freedom, have first proceeded from
the will. There is, then, a constant flow of energy from the
will into the material world which is quite incompatible with

* e.g., Father Maher, " Psychology,"

i88 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the Law of Conservation — that the sum of energy in the
material world is constant.

We reply — (i) The Law of the Conservation of Energy is
an unproved hypothesis. (2) Granted, however, that it
represents an established fact, it in no way conflicts with
the theory of free will. The reader will remember that we
are here dealing with the question of material energy only —
energ}' that can be transformed into motion, for that is the
only energy of which the Law of Conservation can logically
take cognisance. Now, where, in the theory of freedom,
does this material energy come from, in the case of the moving
limb ? Our point is that it does not come from the will.
The muscular energy that moves our limbs when acted upon
by the will comes, not, as our opponents suppose, from the
will, but from the limb itself, and from the body generally.
When we run, it is the body that grows tired, not the will,
because the body has been giving out energy, but the will
has not. The energy, then, that manifests itself in the moving
limb, the energy that is turned into motion must have existed
previously, not in the will, but in the body, and, therefore,
on our theory, the sum of material energy in the world is tlie
same after motion as before. Our point, then, is that the
will may affect the muscles without sendmg into them
muscular energy, and they are incapable of receiving any
other kind of energy than muscular. Hence the theory of
Freedom docs not suppose an inflow of energy from the will
to the material world.

Our opponents, however, may argue — Your answer only
raises an additional difliculty, for even to turn the static
energy of limb or muscle into the kinetic energy of motion
plainly requires an expenditure of energy in the will, and
since this energy cannot be lost it must go to swell the sum
of energies in the material world. We answer — to turn
static into kinetic energy requires certainly activity of some
kind in the will which initiates the change, but it does not
require a flow of energy out of our wills into t/ial body, the
static energy of which is being turned into kinetic. If we
might adopt an illustration from Physics — a stone supported
above the ground possesses static energy. Remove the sup-
port, the static enexgy is transformed into kinetic, and the
stone falls to the ground. Hut no new energy has been added
to the stone. So also in moving a limb the will must exer-
cise activity of some kind — some kind, perhaps, of psychical
or mental energy. But whatever may be the active process
within the v.ill, it need not in changing static into kinetic

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 189

energy send energy into the muscle. In all bodily movement,
therefore, the material energy of the material world is the
same after movement as before. What happens within the
will itself, or what this psychical energy is which enables the
will to move a muscle, or whether it bears an analogy to
that kind of energy which can be turned into motion, or what
" expenditure " means within the will, are points that do not
affect the present question, for the law of Conservation of
Energy can only have reference to that material energy which
can be transformed into motion, and can be measured in
terms of work. The question also how the wiU can act on
the body and direct the energies of the body^ — a question
to which, indeed, this problem of Conservation ultimately
leads us back — is beyond the scope of our present enquiry,
and is a question for the Psychologist not for the Ethician,
since it is nothing more than a particular application of the
general question how the body and the soul are related in
the individual. It is not proper to the narrower question
of freedom. The difficulty, therefore, about Conservation
comes finally to this — how soul moves body, how thought
moves to act, a question which requires to be answered by
Determinist as well as by Indeterminist.

{(l) Consequence of Freedom

The formal consequence of freedom is iMPUTABfLiTY.
Imputability means attributing something to a person
or putting a thing down to a person in praise or blame.
It means, therefore, ownership, causation, production of
what we do, and it supposes that man is the cause not
merely of the effect of his act but of the act itself.
But only the free will is the cause of its own act. A
stone may cause the breaking of a window considered
as an effect, but a stone cannot cause its own act — its
own motion. He who directs the stone is cause both
of the act and (mediately also) of the effect. Anything,
therefore, that is determined by nature to an end,
though it may be the cause of effects produced, yet
cannot be the cause of its own determination to its
own act. Imputability, then, depends on freedom, and

190 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

is the formal consequence of freedom.* Consequently,
if a man were determined to an action either by nature,
or by some ph3-siological cause, or by the will and
intellect losing their power over the other faculties, he
would not be the cause of that action, but the subject
only, and the act would not be imputable to him.
Hence Hamlet's protest : —

" VVas't Hamlet wronged Laertes ? Never Hamlet
If Hamlet from himself he ta'en away ;
And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it."

{e) Other Theories of Freedom

We may now compare our theory of freedom with
two theories closely allied to and at the same time
wholly distinct from ours — namely, the theories of Kant
and Hegel. These theories we select because of their
bearing on the Ethical question of the relation between
freedom and morality to be discussed later.

(i) kant's theory of freedom

We may regard Kant's initial definition of freedom
as equivalent to that which is given in the Scholastic
writings. " The will," Kant writes, f "is a kind of
causality belonging to living beings, in so far as they
are rational ; and freedom would be this property of
such causality that it can be efficient independently of
foreign causes determining it." Here freedom is defined
as self-determination of the will, and it will be re-
membered that this is precisely the notion of freedom
which is given us by the Scholastic ethicians, and which
we have adopted as our delinition of freedom in the
present chapter — the will is free when it determines
its own acts, its own wishes. But when we come to

• Wc shall sec later on that a natural title of ownership is pro-
duction.

t " Metaphysic of Morals " (Abbot), page G5.

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 191

ask the further question what is meant by, or what are
the conditions of, self-determination we find that these
two theories of freedom, which apparently include the
same notions, are in reality very different from each
other. It will be evident to the reader that in the
theory of freedom which is advocated in this work,
there is nothing to prevent even a free and self-deter-
mined will from wishing for ends or objects beyond
itself, from wishing for them for their own sake, or
for the pleasure of them. Self-determination, in the
Scholastic sense, implies onl}- this — that the wiU is the
efficient cause of its own act, its own desire. But a will
might be the efficient cause of its own act of willing,
even though that act of willing concerned some outer
object, since the will might itself have brought about
its own choice of, or its own determination towards
that object, and to bring about its own act is freedom.
In other words, the outer object desired, the outer end
for the sake of which we do a particular act, is not
always the dckrinining factor in choice. In willing, the
will is often the determining cause of its own act, even
though its act may be nothing else than the willing of
some outer object. The will, therefore, may still be
free even whilst it desires outer objects.

Ver}' different is the Kantian view of freedom or self-
determination. Kant recognises but one determining
factor in human action — that thing, namely, for the sake
of which we do our act. If this be some object or end
outside the will, the will is determined, not by itself, , ^ ^

but by an outer object, and, therefore, heteronomously :^**t71v-ftC'-«^
if it be some law or command within the will itself,
some law that springs from out the will or the Practical
Reason (in Kant's system these are regarded as one
and the same faculty), our act is both autonomous and
self-determined or free. Hence, to do an action for
the sake of inner law is freedom. To do it for any outer
end, or for the pleasure of any end, is physical necessity
and heteronomy.

192 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Criticism — What, now, are we to think of this
Kantian conception of freedom ? To 'our mind it is
simply false Psychology to affirm that the determining
factor in action is a-lways that thing or principle for the
sake of which we do our act. We know from experience
that we often act for the sake of ends or objects which
have no power to determine us ; for, to determine the
will is to overmaster it, and no finite end or object may
overmaster a human will, unless, indeed, it be the only
end or object that comes before our will.* When, there-
fore, a finite object draws on our wills to action, it does
so because we ourselves of set purpose cut off all rival
objects from the horizon of desire, and determine that
this one shall remain, in which case it is the will, and
not the object, that determines the course that is pur-
sued. That thing, therefore, for the sake of which we
do our act is not always the final determining cause of
action, and, hence, the will may still be self-determined
and free, even while we act from the motive of ends
outside ourselves.

(2) THE HEGELIAN ACCOUNT OF FREEDOM

The Hegelian account of freedom is at once a develop-
ment of, and a reaction against, the Kantian theory just
explained. Freedom, according to Hegel, is self-deter-
mination ; and by self-determination he means doing an
action for the sake of some principle which either exists
in or proceeds from the will or Practical Reason itself.
So far he is at one with Kant.j Now, according to

• In all deliberate action, at least the negative of the object comes
into our consciousness.

t This view of freedom, as we have explained, is very different from
the Scholastic view. But we could point to passages in Hegel which
recall the Scholastic doctrine in the most unmistakable manner. Thus,
he writes (" Phil, of Right " (Dydc), p. 22) — " Man is the completely
undetermined and stands above impulse " (that is, the desire for ex-
ternal objects or pleasures), " and may fix and set it up as his. Im-
pulse is in nature, but it depends on my will whether I establish it in
the e^o,"

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 193

Hegel, it is an undeniable fact — a fact to which Reason
and experience testify in the fullest way — that a human
being must wish for ends or pleasures of some sort and
for their own sake — ^that he cannot always act for duty's
sake alone ; and he insists, as a consequence of this
fact, that if human action is to be regarded as possessing
freedom on any large scale, it must be possible in the
same act to act for duty's sake, and for the sake of
objects or pleasure — in other words, to be determined
by the self, and, at the same time, to be determined by
the object or pleasure that is desired.* Accordingly,
we find him maintaining by a variety of arguments that
to be determined by the self and to be determined by
objects beyond the self are one and the same thing,
since the self and its objects are one. He argues, for
instance, at one place, from the standpoint of Monism,
that all objects are developments of the Absolute Will —
that " the indeterminate condition of the will as neutral
but infinite germ of all . existence contains within itself
its definite character and ends, and brings them forth
solely out of itself : " f and, in another place, arguing
from the point of view of ordinary Idealism, that the
willing or knowing subject is one with its object, since
object is " object " only in so far as it is known or willed.
" So with the true will," he writes.J " that which it wills
— viz., its content — is identical with it." And again,§
" Conception is the penetration of the object, which is
then no longer opposed to me."

This latter point of view, which bases freedom on the
identity of subject and object in consciousness, is, it
seems to us, insisted on by Hegel, in his analysis of
freedom, more than any other ; and it is the only one

* In Hegel's system negative freedom is the freedom that belongs
to acts that are done for duty's sake only ; positive freedom is the
freedom that belongs to any self-determined action in which sonie
value is given to outer objects and to pleasure,

t " Phil, of Right," page 23,

J Ibid., page 30.

§ Ibid., page 18.
Vol. I — 13

194 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

that gets prominence in the works of the Neo-Hegelian
schooh Thus, Professor Caird writes : — " The opposi-
tion between the self and its objects is not real at all.
Objects are such only by being objects for a self. . . .
To put it more directly, their existence is not merely
an existence for a self, but an existence of a self — an
existence which is essentially spiritual. . . . The con-
sciousness of a self, therefore, is necessarily a conscious-
ness of freedom, for, just in so far as the self is pre-
supposed or presupposes itself as a subject in all deter-
mination of the object and of itself ... it cannot be
conscious of the object as externally determining it ;
and though the object-self, as one object amongst
others, might be regarded as so determined, yet, in so
far as it is identified with the subject itself, the external
relation of determination becomes itself a vehicle for
self-determination." We shall devote most of our
criticism to this idealistic argument.

Criticism — Our first point of criticism is that, in our
belief, no amount of metaphysical jugglery will ever be
able to efface the common judgment and experience of
men that the thing which I think and wish is often dis-
tinct from me, and that mere thinking or willing could
not possibly make such an object one with me ; that,
therefore, subject and object are not necessarily one.
Hence, if freedom is to be made consistent with the
desire for outer objects or for pleasure, their reconcilia-
tion must depend upon some other view of freedom,
and of the relation of subject to object, than that advo-
cated by Hegel. Secondly, it is absurd to regard the
subject and object as one on the mere ground that
object is object in relation to a subject, for then it would
follow that the right must be the left, merely because
it is right in relation to the left, and that an object
which is heavier or lighter than four pounds is four
pounds, simply because it is licavier or lighter in relation
to four pounds— propositions, indeed, which to Hegel's
mind are not at all impossible, but which, we think,

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 195

could never recommend themselves to the multitude of
men, or, indeed, to any man in his rational moments.
Thirdly, we should remember that in Hegel's system
freedom and morality are one thing, and, therefore, if
willing a thing makes it one with the subject, it would
follow that, since any object may be willed, there is no
object the willing of which may not be free, and, conse-
quently, the willing of which is not a moral act. Thus,
in the Hegelian system no room is left for distinctions
of good and evil — a position which is properly described
as Ethical Nihilism, or the negation of all Ethics.

We may at this point sum up our own theory in
opposition to that of Kant and Hegel. First, freedom
means self-determination — i.e., it is a property of a will
which is the efficient cause of its own act, or of its own
movement to certain objects. Secondly, the will may
desire ends external to itself, and the pleasure of them,
but that fact in no way militates against the freedom of
the will, for the final cause of desire may lie outside the
will, even though the will itself is the efficient cause,
and determines itself to embrace those objects, in other
words is free.

The question now arises, is freedom necessary to
morality — i.e., to a moral system — and is it, therefore,
presupposed in Ethics ? This question is of prime
importance and requires to be treated at some length.*

• In " Studies in Humanism," page 405, Professor Schiller makes
an interesting and curious attempt to reconcile Determinism (which he
regards as simply a methodological assumption, not as a principle
capable of being proved) w:th free will, by showing that, even if we
assume that the will is free, the determinist may yet maintain in every
case that our act, whatever it may be, is the necessary result of the
individual forces that moved us at the time of acting. This claim, he
says, the believer in free will can never disprove, because after the act
it is never demonstrable that any other course was possible than that
which happened, and, before the act, the Determinist need not venture
to predict. Professor Schiller's contention is not, we think, without
its touch of humour.

CHAPTER VII

FREEDOM AND MORALITY

[Continued)

Concerning the relation of freedom to morals, we pro-
pose to discuss two questions — [a) is freedom necessary
to morality, and is it, therefore, presupposed in the
Science of Ethics ? {b) Granted that freedom is neces-
sary to morality, are these two conceptions identical, or
is freedom only a pre-requisite of moral goodness ?

{a) Necessity of Freedom for Morality and for
THE Science of Ethics

For the clear treatment of this complex and much-
debated question it will be well to set out our views in
a series of definite propositions. The following three
wiU, we believe, fully represent our view : —

(i) Freedom, though not necessary to distinctions of
good and evil, is necessary to the particular aspect
these distinctions bear in Ethics — namely, as distinc-
tions of moral good and evil.

(2) Freedom is necessary to moral obligation.

(3) Freedom is necessary to imputability, and is,
therefore, necessary to the attendant conceptions of
merit and retributive punishment.

(i) Relaiion of freedom to " good " and " evil."

We do not think we could logically maintain the
necessity of freedom for mere good and evil. For there
are a good and an evil for animals as well as a good
and evil for men, and animals are not free. Besides, in

196

FREEDOM AND MORALITY iq;

distinguishing human good from human evil we do
not necessarily take into account the freedom of our
faculties, but simply determine that certain objects are
natural to our faculties and certain others are not. So
we say that food is natural and good for man just as it
is natural and good for a horse, and in neither case does
our judgment take account of freedom. In general the
good is the natural object of appetite, and in assigning
that object we do not ask whether the faculty in ques-
tion is free or determined. When, indeed, we have
succeeded in assighing the natural object of will — that
is, the Infinite Good — we may proceed then, as St.
Thomas does, to show that the will is free. But the
" good " of the faculty is the first thing settled upon,
and hence, apart from the character that it bears in
morals, the determination of the " good " does not pre-
suppose the freedom of the will. We know that
drunkenness is bad because in drunkenness the natural
order of the faculties is set at nought ; that suicide is
bad becavise the natural tendency of every appetite is
to maintain itself in being ; and that, therefore, the
opposites of these— sobriety and the proper maintenance
of the bodily life — are good. These arguments make
no mention of freedom.

Freedom and Moral Distinctions.

Freedom, as we have seen, is not necessary to the
conception of good and evil as such, nor to the con-
struction of a table of good actions. But Ethics is more
than a mere tabulation of value-judgments or of judg-
ments about good and evil. It is the science of moral
good and evil — that is, of acts of the will as directed by
Reason to natural ends. It is, therefore, the science of
self-directed action. But self-directed action is free
action. Again, having proved that the will is free, it
becomes certain that much human conduct is free. But
human conduct is evidently subject to laws, even that

igS THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

portion of it which comes under human control and is
free. Consequently, some science must consider it, and
the science to which we hand over this department of
human action is Ethics. Those elements in human
action that are not free, or which do not come under the
control of Reason, are subject to other laws than those
of Ethics, and they are part of another science — namely,
of Physics or of Psychology. So freedom is a necessary
presupposition of Ethics or of Moral Science. To put
the matter technically — Ethics in its material aspect as
a simple tabulation of good acts does not, as such, pre-
suppose freedom. In its formal aspect, as a science of
acts of the will controlled by Reason and directed by
Reason to their last end, it does presuppose freedom, and
it is in its formal aspect that it has a title to be con-
sidered a separate science from Psychology.*

(2) Freedom and obligation, i^

Freedom is necessary to obligation. But it is not
easy to prove its necessity scientifically, since men are
not agreed about their definition of obligation. We
believe, however, that even the most widely divergent
schools will agree in allowing that obligation, if it exists
at all, is a categorical necessity of some kind. Starting
with this conception of obligation it is open to us to
bring out the two following points — (a) that if freedom
be not presupposed, then " obligation " ceases to have
any distinctive meaning such as mankind has always

* Freedom is equally necessary for moral good and for moral evil.
In " Studies in Humanism," page 400, Prof. Schiller makes the
peculiar claim that freedom, though necessary for moral evil, is not
necessarily presupposed in moral good. The Moralist, he says, " wants
to be able to say to the bad man, you need not have bocoino the Icpor
you arc . . . but he does not need or desire to say analogously lo the
good man — in .spite of the deeply-ingrained goochiess of your habits
you are still free to do evil." This view is built upon the false assump-
tion that Ethics is only an art, that its solo purpose is to make men
bctttir, and that what does not improve mankind has no right to a
plare in Ethics. We saw, on the contrary, that Ivthics is a .science,
and that its object is to tell us what is good and what is evil, and as
wc saw freedom is necessary for moral good as well as for moral evil.

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 199

attached to it ; (b) (a consequence of this last point)
that they who deny freedom tend also to deny the reality
of obligation, and to regard it as a mere subjective
feeling with no corresponding objective value — with no
real validity.

(a) There are three kinds of necessity in nature :
Physical necessity, or the necessity of cause and effect
— e.g., the necessity that a stone flung from the hand
should go forward ; metaphysical neces' tke neces-
sity of essence and property — e.g., that ,. igftslionld

contain two right angk s ; and ideological nei . or

the necessity of 1 icarv to an end.

This last is of two 1... ...^^ :. and caiigorical —

i.e., the necessity of taking tiie means to :in end if we
desire the end, and the lu i ■ the means to

an end which wc do nd n...- - Moral obliga-
tion, as will be shown in the following chapter (and this
is the common tliougli ill-d' lined conception of obliga-
tion), is a telcological necessity and categorical. This,
even our opponents on the question of freedom them-
selves assniiic. For tKcy attempt to account for the
feeling of obligation by showing how a feeling of cate-
gorical necessity could arise out of the mere remem-
brance of hvpothit' al necessities, thereby conceding
that the ess'Htiil clement in our ordinary conception of
dnt\ is tl I categorical and not a hypothetical
necessity

Let 11 t] n, toke this ordinary conception of duty
as a c; il necessity and examine it in conjunction

with two oUier propositions, neither of which will be
readily deniecl — first, that if a man be under moral
obligation at. all, he is under an obligation to do the
gooil (bonum est faciendum), that no man could be
obliL;ed to do evil ; and secondl}', that man is some-
tina s guilty of evil. . Arguing from these three ad-
mi> ions vM shall arrive at the desired conclusion. A

' " Must i>hvsically — i.e., it is something which we cannot help
de iiiug. N.I'.. By " physical " we do not mean " material."

200 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

man is always bound to do the good : he is bound to
do it even when he does what is evil. Now, on the
determinist hypothesis when a man does evil he could
not have done the good. And, therefore, on the de-
terminist hypothesis a man would be bound to do what
he is unable to do. But this is impossible — man
cannot be bound to do the thing which he is not able
to do.

It is clear, then, that on the determinist hypothesis
if duty exists at all it must be something very different
from what men have always understood by " duty."
The following- niight on the Deterministic hypothesis be
a possible meaning for duty :— just as a tree must have
moisture if it is to reach its acquired perfection, so a
man ought to do the good (even in the case in which he
cannot do it) if he is to act up to the ideal of humanity.
But this, we contend in reply, is not moral obligation
as men have always understood it. Moral obligation in
the common mind, as well as in the scientific, is an
obligation to do a thing simply and unconditionally.
The moral " ought " is nothing if it is not categorical,
whereas here we find the " ought " reduced to a mere
hypothetical necessity, or rather to something much
lower — to a sheer impossibility. Freedom, therefore,
is necessary to the conception of duty, for* we have now
proved the proposition — " deny the freedom' of the will
and the ' ought ' ceases to have any distinctive mean-
ing." If duty is not categorical it is nothing. And if
the will is not free, duty cannot be categorical.

(6) Again, Deterministic Ethics opposes, and has
always opposed, the conception of obligation as a con-
ception with an objective value — that is, as a concep-
tion with a natural title to a place in our thoughts as
representative of objective things or relations. For
the determinist, the notion of obligation is a purely
subjective growth, a kind of epiphcnomcnon or bye-
product from, other thoughts and feelings — nmrjiely, the
feelings that certain actions are to be avoided if we

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 201

would escape punishment. These feelings, the de-
terminist assures us, have an objective value, for if
we do not avoid the forbidden acts we shall in truth
be punished. But, then, in course of time, this
hypothesis " if you would escape punishment " is
either forgotten or drops out of our consciousness in
some way, and we are left with a feeling quite different
from the first — namely, the feeling that some acts are
to be avoided — without any " if." This is the feeling
of duty, according to determinists. It is purely sub-
jective. It is a part or remnant of that which was
once genuinely real and true — ^namely, the feeling of
hypothetical necessity from which it is derived, but it
itself represents nothing, just as a mutilated photograph
represents nothing in the objective world. Later in our
chapter on Duty, we shall have an opportunity of study-
ing this theory. At present we wish merely to bring
out the point that freedom is necessary to obligation
since Determinism tends uniformly to its rejection.

We claim, therefore, that without freedom there can
be no such thing as moral obligation, and for two
reasons : first, because on the deterministic hypothesis,
obligation would sometimes be an obligation to do
evil ; secondly, because in Determinism there seems to
be no room for the idea of obligation.

(3) Freedom and Impidahility.

Freedom is also necessary to Imputability. Imputa-
bility implies, as we saw, ownership of act, and owner-
ship means that the agent produces the act or is its
cause. Now, if I am not free, then the act that is done
is not, properly speaking, my act, for I am not its cause.
The fire that burns is the cause of the ruin that it pro-
duces ; but the fire is not the cause of its own action,
for it does not determine itself to the act. So the man
who is not free, but is determined by nature or character
to an action, may be the cause of the outer effect of his

202 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

action, but he cannot be the cause of his own action, and
his act is not imputable to him.

And as merit and retributive punishment presuppose
imputability they also demand freedom. Merit includes -
besides imputability the conception of a good done to '
another person, and retributive punishment the con- ^
ception of an injury. But both suppose imputability rj;
or the mastery of the agent over his act — and since
freedom is necessary to imputability it is necessarily
supposed in merit also. We must here say a special
word 01 the question of

Freedom and Retributive Punishment.

The question of the nature of punishment will occupy
us in a future chapter — that on Sanction — but we men-
tion it now because of its connection with the question
of the relation of free will to Ethics. For purposes of
present discussion it will be enough to point out that
there are two theories on the nature and meaning of
punishment — {a) the theory that ^all punishment is
emendatory and exemplary — that is, is meant merely
for the improvement of the person punished and also
as an example to deter others from crime ; (b) that
all punishment is primarily and essentially retributive
— ^that is, is inflicted on account of the act that has
been done, which act must be atoned for in order to
satisfy the requirements of the moral order.

In the present work the view taken is that punish-
ment is essentially and primarily retributive, and the
question therefore arises — How is freedom related to
retributive punishment ? We answer^free will is neces-
sary to retributive punishment, and it is necessary for
the following reason : — Punishment as retributive is in-
flicted on some one as cause of the crime committed.
But he who is not free is not cause of his own act. To
be cause of one's own act and to be free are one and the
same thing, and they are part of the very meaning of

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 203

iniputability. Therefore, freedom is necessary to retri-
butive punishment.

A brief reference at this point to two other well-
known views of the relation of freedom to punishment
will not be out of place.

(i) Leslie Stephen s view. Punishment inflicted upon
something which is not the cause of evil action is unjust
punishment. Therefore, that an act be punishable it
should spring, not from something which passes in a
moment, from something that passes with the action
itself — for instance, a momentary desire, or the will's
passing choice— but from something which is permanent
in a man and remains after the action has been per-
formed. But, he adds, the free choice passes, and
conseqeuntly, if action be the result of free choice, it
would be illogical and unethical to punish on account
of it. Punishment, therefore, can only be inflicted if
the act springs out of the permanent character, and
an act that springs out of the permanent character is
a determined, not a free, act. And Hume writes :
" Actions are from their very nature temporary and
perishing, and where the}' proceed not from some cause
in the character and disposition of the person who per-
formed them, they can neither redound to his honour
if good nor infamy if evil." (Enquiry.)

Our reply is as follows : — We quite admit that if
retributive punishment is to be rational, that inner
element from which the evil act proceeds must not be
something which passes away with the act, but some-
thing that persists up to the time of punishment, some-
thing that is at once the cause of the act and permanent.
But we submit that that permanent something is not
character, but rather the free will. For the free will
realises the two conditions of punishment — it is at once
the cause of the act and permanent. But the cha-
racter, though it may be the cause of action, is not
necessarily permanent. What is more changeable than
human character ? It changes under the influence of

204 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

punishment itself. It changes sometimes even with the
doing of the deed which sprang from it. Character is
but the resultant of many deep-set, yet not necessarily
permanent, tendencies ; and that resultant keeps ever
changing as its components change, and sometimes it is
neutralised and blotted out altogether. But the free
will is a permanent possession. It is permanent because
every natural faculty is permanent ; and it remains
with us to the end just like the faculty of feeling and
knowing, or just like the soul itself. The free will,
therefore, and not the character, is the right and proper
recipient for punishment, and consequently determinism
is not the onl}- theory consistent with retributive pun-
ishment.

Again, as we shall see later, retributive punishment
is essentially the restoration of an order violated. Now,
no necessary agent could violate the order of nature,
because it is itself a natural force, and, therefore, its
acts are themselves part of the natural order. Hence,
retributive punishment, if it be inflicted at all, must be
inflicted on something other than a force of nature —
that is, it must be inflicted upon a free wih.

(2) Butler's theory, briefly expressed, is that punish-
ment is the other half of crime ; * that punishment
follows as naturally upon an evil act as being hurt
follows a fall,t that as the hurt follows whether the fall
was free or not, so must punishment follow whether
the breaking of the law was free or not.

Criticism — In one sense of the word, punishment
includes all those evil effects that follow on the viola-
tion of any law. In this sense we might say that a
plant is punished which is neglected and dies in conse-

* This theory is also taught by Kant.

t Ixjckc gives an express denial to the theory that punishment
follows as a natural consequence of the act. Speaking of the necissity
of punishment for law he writes : " It would be vain for one intelligent
btnng to set a rule to the actions of another if he had it not in his
power to reward the compliance with, and punish deviation from, his
rule by some f^ood and rvil that is not the natural f^rodttct and consequence
of the action itself" (ICss.iv, IVtok 11., rii.iptcr 28).

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 205

qiicnce of its neglect. But such punishment is natural
or physical in the sense of non-moral. Moral punish-
ment is punishment inflicted for the violation of moral
law, and it is with moral punishment we are concerned
in the science of Ethics. As, therefore, a moral law is
violated ethically only by him who violates it freely
and knowingly, so moral punishment implies the free
violation of a moral law.

Again, Butler would not contend that an act is
punishable which is done under the impression that it
is good and moral. But to fall from a height will
injure us whether it is done knowingly or not. There-
fore, there can be no parity between such natural
physical evils as the hurt that comes from falling and
the moral evil which is at the root of retributive
punishment.*

* Perhaps an unsympathetic critic of Butler would even go farther,
and say that in the cases adduced by Butler, punishment — accepting
the word punishment in his sense — instead of being the natural result
of the violation of law, is really inflicted for its observance. A stone
cannot disobey a law. The very definition of a determined Being is
that it is a creature of law. Its motion is the resultant of all the laws
that affect it put together. Now, if a rock rolls down into the valley,
and crushes the life out of the plants that stand in its course, they are
there to meet their doom in obedience to law, and they are punished
(in Butler's sense) for being there ; and the rock itself is shivered to
pieces in the depths below because it has unresistingly yielded itself
up to law. If these things then be punishment, punishment is in-
flicted not for violation, but for observance.

Butler advances another argument in favour of the deterministic
theory of retributive punishment which requires some notice. Briefly
put it is this : " If necessity destroys the injustice of murder, it will
also destroy the injustice of sanction or punishment " (" Analogy,"
Chapter VI.). This means that if we hold that a murderer who must
murder is not morally a sinner, and consequently is not guilty of the
injitsticc of murder, wc must, on the very same ground, admit that
the punishment meted out to him is just — that is, that the proper
ground of punishment is not liberty, but necessity. Now, what
Butler ought to have said is this : "If necessity destroy the tn justice
of murder, it will also destroy the justice of sanction." It should be
remembered that the injustice of murder is followed not by the in-
justice, but by the justice, of punishment, and that a just murder is
followed by unjust punishment. Because murder is unjust, therefore,
the punishment that follows it is just. And hence, if necessity destroy
the injustice of murder it destroys, as a matter of course, the justice
of punishment. And that is exactly what we are contending for — that
since Determinism removes guilt it removes also the occasion for

2o6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

On the Bearing of this Question of Freedom on
Human Action

We must here say a word on the practical bearing of
the question of freedom on human action or on the
practical defence of deterministic Ethics — a defence of
which some determinists make prominent mention.
Briefly, this practical defence of Deterministic Ethics
may be reduced to two points — (i) " Determinism will
not reasonably modify a man's view of what is right for
him to do " — i.e., it does not hinder our distinguishing
truly between good and evil action. (2) Determinism
will not weaken a man's motives for doing good.

(1) It is quite true that Determinism will not modify
our view of what is good and evil. For, certain things
are good and certain others are evil for determined
beings as well as for free beings. Thus, food is good
for plants, for animals, and for men. But, on the other
hand, Determinism will modify our view of what is
morally good and evil, or morally right and wrong, since,
on the deterministic hypothesis, there can be no such
things as 7noral good and evil. But Ethics is not con-
cerned with the good merely, but with the moral good,
with good action as controlled by Reason and directed
by Reason to the last end. Hence determinism is not
consistent with Ethical distinctions.*

punishment — i.e., as it destroys the injustice of murder and of every
other act, it destroys also the justice of punishment.

There is, however, another way of looking at Butler's argument.
He may mean that just as necessity makes a subject's crime not un-
just, since a man who is determined cannot help his crime, it will make
punishment also not unjust (in the Ruler or him who punishes), since
the Ruler who punishes a criminal cannot — on the deterministic
hypothesis— -help punishing, and therefore cannot be unjust. On that
reading, however, though the ruler would be subjectively excused from
guilt, still punishment as an institution could have no meaning, and
would be intrinsically unjust.

♦ Prof. Rashdall (" Good and Evil," Vol. II. p. 329) argues that
" the (lilfcrencc between a crime and a disease is the same for the
determinist us for the indetcrminist. The difference lies just in the
fact that a better will would have jirevented tiie one, but not the
other." We think, however, that this is not the difterence. To the in-
dcterminiKt the difference is tliat not merely a better will but any will
may prevent a crime whereas disease arises independently of our wills.

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 207

(2) The second point of defence we also traverse.
Determinism, in the first place, cuts the ground from
under moral obligation, and the fact that we ought to
do the good is no small motive for doing it. Secondly,
if our actions are determined, we cannot see what
rational motive a man can have for trying to do the
good, since what a man does at any moment is, on
this theory, simply givett in the conditions of the moment
before, and there is no use in his trying to do otherwise
than what is " given " in these conditions. Deny it
as best we may, the logical result of Determinism, so
far as human endeavour is concerned, is fatalism.* The
man who wanted to lie lazily in bed in the morning,
and consoled himself that his angel guardian and Satan
were fighting it out, and that he must await the issue,
was a logical determinist, except that, for the Deter-
minist, the angel guardian and Satan are not without
but are within a man and part of his constitution —
that is, they represent the opposing antecedent con-
ditions within his mind. These antecedent conditions,
indeed, may be affected by a man's own conduct. But
since, according to determinists, a man's own conduct
is itself antecedently determined, it follows that " what
will be " is altogether in nature's hands at each moment
and not in ours, and that it was in nature's hands from
the beginning. Actions, then, on the determinist
hypothesis are like a person's stature — we cannot, " by
taking thought, add to our stature one cubit." Of
course, it may be said by determinists that if we do not
strive we shall not obtain certain ends, and that, there-
fore, the determinist theory affords us a just and logical
ground for striving. They forget that on this theory

* The distinction sometimes drawn between fatalism and deter-
minism— that the former represents man's actions as determined from
without, the latter as determined largely from nature and character
and efforts within — makes no practical difference in the present case.
A man may Imow that his acts are determined by the " self within,"
but if he believes that the " self within " is itself antecedently deter-
mined, then he may logically say : " Whatever will be to-morrow was
determined yesterday, I cannot alter that necessity."

2o8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of Determinism even the fact of our striving or not
striving is "given" at each moment in the conditions
of a moment before. Why, then, should we bother
further about it ? If these conditions are such as to
make a man strive, infalhbly he will strive. If they
are not, he will not strive. We cannot, on the deter-
ministic hypothesis, break the causal sequence. If
this be not rank fatalism, then fatalism has no mean-
ing.

It should be remembered, however, that our main
quarrel with determinism is not its practical effect on
human life, but the fact that it makes the moral good
impossible, and that it removes all ground of responsi-
bility. We can, therefore, see no logic in such language
as the following, which we quote from Mr. Calder-
wood, who, we may remark, is himself a professed
libertarian : — * " If determinists can find their require-
ments met in a lofty metaphysical determinism, in which
conscience is sovereign, the will absolutely good, and
activity is wholly rational, and can allow that the con-
dition of social life is such as to require and render
possible individual struggle towards moral self-culture,
I do not know what controversy libertarians can have
with this view of Ethical life." This is, indeed, to
expect a great deal from detenninism, yet, granted
these conditions, we cannot agree with Calderwood's
contention. For, on the deterministic theory, it is, as
we have shown, absurd to speak of individual struggle to
the social good. The struggle towards the social good
can result only from a man's sense of the obligation to
struggle towards it. But on the deterministic hypo-
thesis obligation is, as we saw, impossible. Therefore,
between determinism, on the one hand, and the main
ethical conceptions on the other, there is a cleavage
which nothing can overcome. These mnin ethical con-
ceptions are moral good, obligation, imputabilit}', merit,
and punishment.

• Page 20J, " lithics."

FREEDOM AND MORALITY 209

(b) Whether Freedom and Moral Goodness are
Identical ?

We now come to the second portion of this enquiry.
We have already enquired — (a) Is Freedom necessary to
moral science ? We now ask — (b) What is the relation
of freedom to moral goodness ? Are they, as Kant
asserts, one thing ? Is the free will the morally good
will, and, vice versa, is the morally good will the free
will ? * Our answer is that they are not identical ;
that freedom is only one of the pre-conditions of moral
goodness, but that it is not moral goodness itself ; that,
on the contrary, a bad will is free just as a good will is
free, and that, therefore, freedom and goodness are far
from being convertible terms.

(i) We admit, of course, that only the good man is
fully free. For, vice is slavery — the slavery of a man
to his passions — the mastery of the flesh, and we have
already shown that passion diminishes freedom, and in
certain cases may even destroy it altogether. The
drunkard, though sufficiently free to be responsible for
getting drunk, is not a perfectly free man. He is to a
large extent the slave of his passion. St. Paul speaks
of the " servus peccati " — and there is no doubt what-
soever that sin and the tendency to it are a bondage.
On the other hand, the good man — the man who cheer-
fully obeys the law — is to a large extent saved from the

* This question is important, since many modem Ethicians — for
instance, Fichte and Hegel — take the identification of the two con-
ceptions, freedom and moral goodness, as the starting points of their
Ethical systems, for whicli assumption they are indebted to Kant.
The reasons for this assumption will be more conveniently studied
when treating of the Kantian theory of the Autonomy of Human
Reason, to which therefore we refer our readers. Perhaps, however,
it will not be out of place to refer here to one possible reason for the
Kantian assumption which some authorities quote as the main reason
— namely, that, according to Kant, the only freedom with which we
are acquainted is freedom to do that which we are obliged to do — " I
ought, therefore, I can." And as we arc only obliged to the good,
freedom and the good are one and coextensive in his theory.
Vol. I — 14

210 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

thraldom of the passions, and is so far a freer man than
others.

" Ah ! Christ, if there were no hereafter,
It still were best to follow Thee ;
Tears are a nobler gift than laughter,
Who wears Thy yoke alone is free."

(2) But this holds merely for freedom in the sense of
its fullest possession, as implying not only the -power
of self-determination, but also the absence of strong
passions and a consequent increased power of self-
determination to the " good." But freedom is the
power of self-determination itself, and in that sense
freedom is not the same as the morally good will. For,
first, the content of the two ideas is not the siime. Free-
dom means simply self-determination or the power to
£2ilSfi— QXlgls_own_act. Moral goodness means that a
man's act is in accordance with the ultimate end.
Secondly, freedom is necessary not only to the morally
good but also to the morally bad will. A morally bad
man is not one that wishes an evil end, but one that
causes his own desire for that end. The tree that fails
to bloom is not morall}^ bad, since in the circumstances
it could do nothing else than fail to bloom — its failure
is not due to itself. The horse that bites is not bad
morally. It does not cause its own vicious desire to
injure another. But a morally bad man is one who
not only does evil, but does it of himself — who deter-
mines his own evil desire. Freedom, then, is a necessary
presupposition of moral badness as well as of goodness,
and hence it cannot be one with goodness.

CHAPTER VIII

ON DUTY

{a) The Problem of Duty Explained

In a former chapter we eatablished an essential distinc-
tion between good and evil acts. A man who does
good acts will be accounted a good man, and a man
who does evil acts is a bad man.

A further question remains to be answered. Is a
man bound in any way to be a good man and to choose
a good or virtuous line of conduct rather than the oppo-
site ? Is there any necessity laid on a man to be good
rather than bad ? To men who are not accustomed to
strict scientific enquiry such a question will seem almost
superfluous. They will say — " Of course, an evil action
ought to be avoided, and only good actions done. What
else is a good action but one that ought to be done ? "
But Ethicians know that this is a question that they
must answer, and that the answer to it is neither obvious
nor easy. For it is clear that besides showing that
there is a natural distinction between good and evil,
we must also show that men are bound to observe the
distinction in their actions and to do only such acts as
are good. Thus, if I tell a lie I am a liar and a bad
man ; but I can still ask — Why may I not be a bad
man if I choose ? * Can I show that men are under any \
necessity to do good and avoid evil ? Such necessity I
is what' we understand by duty or obligation. And '
on our power of proving that such necessity exists will
depend our power of proving the reality of duty or of
obligation.

* " The great releasing question : ' Then why shouldn't we have
a good time ? ' " says H. G. Wells (" Marriage," page 9).

212 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

/ By duty, then, we understand a necessity laid on a
/man to do certain acts and to avoid others. Now, it is
/evident that the necessity of duty cannot be a physical
I necessity — ^that is, a necessity which so coerces us into
the following of a certain course of action that the
opposite course ceases to be possible to us. A man,
for instance, may be able physically to tell a lie,
though at the same time, he is under the necessity of
duty not to tell it. Thus the necessity of duty is a
necessity which is compatible with our physical freedom
to do or not to do that which duty prescribes. In other
words, the necessity of duty is a moral necessity, a neces-
sity which is compatible with freedom. And the proof
of duty will consist in showing that we are under some
kind of necessity to do certain acts which yet physically
we are able to do or to avoid.

From all this it follows that duty is a necessity laid
on the will. For, in the first place, it is a necessity
which is compatible with freedom,* and freedom resides
exclusively in the will. Secondly, duty is a necessity of
doing certain acts and avoiding others, and hence the
necessity of duty must be laid upon that faculty on
which all human action depends — namely, the will.
Consequently, the moral necessity which we shall have
to establish in this chapter must be a necessity that
primarily and essentially binds the will, and through
the will the other faculties also and the whole man.

Moral Obligation or Duty, as we have just said, is a
necessity to do certain actions. But every_jiecessity
depends on law of some kiad- - The necessity of the
chemical affinities, the neceaeity of flowering in a plant,

* That duty is laid on a f^ee will is not the point of the present
chapter. Wc wish simply to show that there is laid on the will a
necessity of doing the Rood. But clearly this necessity, if we can
succeed in establishing it, is not a physical necessity, since men, as a
matter of fact, sometimes do evil, and if they were under a physical
necessity of doing the good they could not do evil. In tluit way we
claim that duty is a moral necessity or a necessity that is compatible
with freedom. Sec also dur argument in last chapter, page 198. How-
ever, our argumcntatioa in this chapter will not relate to freedom.

ON DUTY 213

the necessity of eating in the case of the animal, all
spring from law, proximately from some law of nature
through which these necessities manifest themselves to
us, and ultimately from that eternal necessary law of
the Supreme Lawgiver on which the laws of nature
are founded, and which is their ultimate ground. Now
since duty is a necessity, it also ultimately rests on the
eternal law of the Supreme Lawgiver, and hence the
ultimate ground or reason why I must or am bound to
do this or that good action is because such is the eternal
and necessary law of the Supreme Being.

But we are led also to look for a proximate ground
of duty residing in nature itself. And it is this proxi-
mate natural ground of duty that we are about to in-
vestigate in the present chapter. That such a proxi-
mate ground of duty exists in nature is to be expected
from the manner in which the eternal law relates to
things in the other departments of the created world.
For, first, the eternal law of God does not move the
world directly and immedia:ely, but mediately, i.e.,
through the operation of secondary causes or causes
residing in nature itself ; and therefore it is not to be
expected that in the moral world the eternal law will
be operative without some such intermediate natural!
principle. The plant is urged or necessitated to reach
its natural end because of natural necessities residing
within itself. The animal is necessitated to seek for
food because of an inner natural appetite moving it
to take food ; and so we may expect to find that the
necessity of duty though resting ultimately on God's
eternal law, without which it could not exist, will be
grounded immediately upon, and will manifest itself
through some more proximate law residing in, and
arising out of human nature itself. Secondly, we are
led to expect that moral duty must rest upon some
inner natural ground because moral goodness to which
duty relates is dependent immediately upon the inner
requirements of our human nature. The goodness of

214 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the human act depends upon the inner character of the
act itself : it would be strange if duty which is the
necessity of doing good, should be found not to rest
Upon an}^ ground of nature, but should be caused
immediately by the eternal law. As we said before,
not only the good or the perfection of plant and animal
are determined immediately by their nature, but the
necessity also by which they are moved to reach their
final perfection is from nature. And duty is the necessity
of reaching our natural perfection.*

The question — What is the immediate ground of
duty (which also will supply us with our proof of duty)
we now go on to investigate.

(b) Proof that it is our Duty to do the Good

Now, duty being a necessity laid on the will, we must,
before we can definitely establish the existence of moral
duty, consider in what sense and how far the human
will can be made subject to necessity — that is, we must
determine what are the various kinds of necessity, and
which, if any, of them can affect the v;ill. Into this
question St. Thomas Aquinas enters most fully when
treating of the psychology of the will.

St. Thomas distinguishes J^ four kinds of necessity
arising from each of jdieJourJdnHs of cause — the formal,
the material, the efficient, and the final cause. Two of
these kinds of necessity, however — those arising from
the material and formal causes, that is, from the in-
ternal constituent causes of things — he groups together,

• This law of nature whereby we prove the existence of duty will
be found to exhibit a very special dependence on the Supreme Being.
For besides resting like other laws on the eternal law of God, it arises
immediately (unlike other natural laws) out of the final causal activity
of the ultimate end of tlic will, which is the perfect or infinite good.
Also this natural law itself requires to be supplemented by other
truths connected with the Divine legislation, e.g., the sanctions of
the IMvine law, in order to give us the full conception of duty and
what it involves.

t " S. Theol.," I., Q. LXXXII., Art. i.

ON DUTY 215

and calls them natural necessities, that is, inner neces-
sities depending solely on the inner essence or nature
of things. We are then left with tll££e distinct classes
of necessity— namely, (i) the necessity of nature, (2) the
necessity of efficient cause, (3) the necessity 01 end.
Min Absolute necessity, or the"necessity of nature, is, as
we said, the necessity which arises from the inner
essence of a thing. For, given a certain nature, certain
properties, relations, and acts must follow, and with
absolute necessity. Examples are the necessity that a
triangle should have its angles equal to two right angles,
that a material object should be capable of divisioij'J
or that a compound substance should be chemically
alterable. The farmer necessity — that of the triangle —
arises out of the formal cause of things ; the latter
from the material cause. These are the internal con-
stituents. Again ((2)) necessity may arise from some-
thing extrinsic to the object. Thus, it may arise from
some e^cient cause or agent outside the object, as when
a man is thrown to the ground by another whom he
cannot resist. This St. Thomas calls the necessity of
compulsion or of constraint. /(3)jOr the extrinsic prin-
ciple of necessity may be tnlS^nd or final cause, as
when a man 7nust take ti boat if it is his purpose to cross
the ocean. To this " must " he gives the name " final
necessity," or " necessitas finis," or " necessitas ex
fine " or "ex suppositionc finis " — which latter phrases
are clearer and better than " necessitas finis," since they
clearly indicate that the necessity referred to affects,
not the end itself, but the means to it, and that these
means become a necessity to us only on condition of
our desiring the end. They are a necessity, on the sup-
position of our desiring the end.

Now, of these three kinds of necessity, the second —
that is, the necessity of constraint — is wholly foreign
to the will, for the will cannot be violently compelled
to an act by any agent outside itself. Acts of the will
are voluntary acts ; and voluntary movement and

2i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

violence are diametrically opposed to each other. But
the other two kinds of necessity, St. Thomas shows,
may and do affect the.,will,„ and hence the consideration
of them is required here. We shall for convenience'
sake consider, as St. Thomas also does, the third kind
of necessity first.

In the first place, the will is subject to that species of
necessity which we have called necessitas ex fine or ex
suppositione finis. For it is plain that if a man wishes
an end, and if there be but one means to its attainment,
then that means becomes a necessity to the will.* Thus,
if a man wants to cross the ocean, he must travel in a
ship. If he wants to be learned, he must study. This
kind of necessity holds good, however, provided only
that the will truly and seriously desires the end. For if
the wish of the will be only a velleity — that is, if the will
merely would wish the end (under some supposition or
condition), but does not actually wis-i it because* that
condition is not fulfilled, then no necessity arises as
regards the desire of the means, for in that case the will
does not really wish the end. Thus, a poor man might
wish to see America if it were not so expensive. His
wish is merely a " velleity." But such a wish involves
no necessity as to the means, since de facto he does not
will the end. But if the end be wished actually and
seriously, then the means to it biecome a necessity to the
will— I must wish to take the means if I seriously wish
to gain the end. The will, then, is subject to that
kind of necessity which we called necessitas finis or ex
fine.

Secondly, the will is subject to the absolute and
natural necessity of wishing the last end — that is, it
wishes this last end in itself and cannot help wishing
it. It wishes the final end from its very nature. Our
proofs of this proposition are : — First, jjj The will must
of its very nature desire happiness-in-general and the
good-in-general — its natural object. If the perfect or

• " Qui vcut la fin veut aussi lea moyens."— Rousseau.

ON DUTY 217

infinite good were perceived immediately the will should
also desire it necessarily, since the perfect good contains
all that is included under the good-in-general. The
will may, indeed, refuse to desire this or that par-
ticular or finite object, this or that finite pleasure,
because in every finite good there is something which
the will can regard as evil, and from which it can turn
away. This " something " may be a positive evil, or
it may be the mere absence of good — mere limitation
in good ; but because of this " something " there is no
finite good which the will must of necessity desire.
But the perfect good it cannot help desiring, for in the
perfect good there is nothing from which the will can
turn away. (2) Our second proof that the will must
wish the last"end, and cannot help wishing it, is that
the will depends on and follows the intellect — we desire
only that which is known, and after the manner in
which a thing is known. But the speculative intellect
{e.g., as used in Geometry) begins its reasonings from
axioms which it must accept, which it cannot help
accepting, on which it is fixed by nature ; no intellect
can refuse to assent to these first principles, and unless
it were so fixed in them it could not even begin to
reason. So, also, no will can refuse its adhesion to
what we might call the first principle of the will — -
namely, its last end. Of its nature it has to desire
that end. " Finis se habet in operabilibus sicut prin-
cipium in speculabilibus." (^ Thirdly, the act of the
will is essentially an act of movement, of direction
towards an end. But movement is impossible unless it
begins in something which is firmly fixed — Omne mobile
procedit ah immohili. Consequently, our will-movements
must begin with the desire of some fixed end — some
end, that is, on which the will is itself naturally and
permanently fixed. If there were no such object or
end the will could not even begin to move. There is,

* Ethicians of the most widely divergent schools, e.g., Aristotle,
Mill, Kant, Spencer, are in agreement on this principle.

2i8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

then, an end which the will desires, not by choice, but
because it is fixed on such an end by nature. The
necessity of this end is what is described by St. Thomas
Aquinas as absolute or natural necessity. Subjectively
this end is happiness ; objectively it is the object of
perfect happiness.

Now, just as from the desire for any end, there arises
the necessity of taking the means which lead to it, so
from the natural desire for the last end there springs
the necessity {necessitas ex fine) of taking at least some
of the means that lead to it — namely, those that are
necessary for it, and of avoiding all those things that
lead away from it. But good acts, we assume, are
those that lead to the final end, bad acts lead us away
from it. Therefore, just as from the desire to ride
there arises the necessity for a horse, and from the
desire to cross the ocean there arises the necessity of
travelling in a ship, and from the desire for health there
arises the necessity of avoiding certain foods — so also,
from the desire for the final end, there arises the necessity
of doing good and avoiding evil.*

Thus far we are brought by St. Thomas in his Psy-
chology. Of moral obligation he makes no express
mention in this part of his work. But it is evident
that this necessity which we have just established —
the necessity of wishing those things that are required
for the final end — is none other than the necessity of
moral obligation. For, in the first place, it is a necessity
of doing the good and of avoiding evil. It is a necessity,
that is, of taking the means to the final end, and, there-
fore, it is just precisely what St. Thomas, in his exposS,
calls necessitas ex fine. Secondly, in his treatise on
" Justice," St. Thomas expressly identifies these con-
ceptions of moral obligation and final necessity. Writing

• Duty therefore is founded on our desire for the pood and for
happiness. It is common amonp writers to ojipose these two con-
ceptions, and to regard what is a duty as oxchidinx iiappiiiess or
plcastirc. "No, he replied sagely,"* your garden is nt»t your duty
because it is your pleasure " (Elizabeth and her German Garden).

ON DUTY 219

on the question whether Justice is a virtue,* he offers
this difficulty. " That which is done from necessity
is not a cause of merit. But to render to each man
his due, which is the end of justice, is necessary.
Therefore, it is not a cause of merit. But acts of virtue
are meritorious. Therefore, justice is not a virtue."
This difficulty he answers as follows : "To the second
objection our reply is — There are two kinds of necessity
— one the necessity of constraint {coactionis) , and this
because opposed to will does not admit of merit. But
there is another necessity which is ex ohligatione frae-
cepti sive necessitate finis — namely, when the end of
virtue cannot be gained without a certain act," &c., &c.
But, as we said, apart from this express quotation, it
is evident that what we have proved to be a moral
necessity laid on the will 'to do good, is precisely what
St. Thomas means by necessitas ex fine as expounded in
the Psychology.

THE ABSOLUTE CHARACTER OF MORAL DUTY f

As yet we have not emphasised an essential character-
istic of the necessity of duty — a characteristic which is
all-important in connection with our present enquiry^
namely, that on St. Thomas' own showing the necessity
of taking the means which lead to our final end is not
a hypothetical or conditional, but an absolute, necessity,
or, as moderns call it, a categorical necessity — in other
words, that duty is categorical. The reader will already
have been familiar with these terms from his studies in
Logic. A hypothetical proposition is a proposition of
the form — if a is h, c is d. A categorical proposition is
one of the form — c is d. So also a hypothetical necessity
is one that depends on an // — if I want a I must do 6.

* " S. Theol.," II., Ila^., Q. LVIII., Art. 3. Second objection.

•f The reader must be careful to distinguish between this absolute
(or categorical) necessity of which St. Thomas speaks and the absolute
or categorical Imperative of Kant. The categorical Imperative of
Kant is discussed and disproved in our chapter on Law.

/cs^

220 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

A categorical necessity is one that depends on no if, no
condition^=I must do h. It is now our purpose to show-
that duty is an absolute or categorical necessity, that it
depends on no if — that we must do the good, not if we
wish to gain some end which we are able to wish or not
to wish, but absolutely, and always, and in every act,
without any if, or any qualification or condition.

Let us, in order to bring out this distinction, take a
particular case of hypothetical necessity and see how it
arises and how it differs from the necessity of duty.
The necessity of taking a boat or a carriage can never
be more than a hypothetical necessity, for it always
depends upon an if. These things are a necessity to
me if I desire to travel. If I do not desire to travel
they are not a necessity. The necessity of the ship or
carriage, then, is always hypothetical, always dependent
on that if. Why is this ? The reason is because the
end — travelling — is not itself a necessary end — that is,
it is not absolutely necessary to the will. It is not some-
thing which we have to desire by an inner necessity of
our nature. Of travelling we can never say simply and
universally — " the will has to wish it," since it is in
my power at any moment either to desire it or not to
desire it. But, suppose that there be an end which is
itself absolutely necessary to our wills, an end which we
cannot help wishing, an end on which Nature herself
has permanently fixed our wills, then undoubtedly the
necessity of willing the means to that end will depend
on no if — they will be necessary to us unconditionally,
absolutely, categorically.

Now, it is exactly in this way that we establish the
categorical character of the moral ought or duty. On
our final end — happiness and the ' good ' — the will,
as we have shown, is absolutely and permanently fixed
by an irresistible law of nature herself. Consequently,
the means to our final natural end are categorically
necessary to us. I ought to wish the means // I wish
the end. But I do wish the end. Therefore, I ought

ON DUTY 221

to wish the means (without any if or condition). The
categorical necessity of duty, then, is estabhshed as we
estabUsh any other categorical conclusion — namely, by
affirming the antecedent * of a conditional proposition.
Thus I ought to wish a if I wish 6 to which it leads ; I
ought to wish 6 if I wish c to which it leads. ... I
ought to wish y if I wish z to which it leads. But I do
wish z. Therefore, I ought (without any if) to wish y
and X and . . . c and b and a. It will be said that
following this method a man might establish other
categorical necessities besides those of duty. For
instance, that — " I ought to take a boat if I wish to
cross to America. But I do wish to cross to America.
Therefore, I ought to take a boat." But, as we have
just pointed out, such arguments as these are only
categorical in form, because the minor proposition of
the inference is in reality conditional and dependent.
It is not absolutely true. It is true only as long as my
present humour lasts, and, therefore, it is true con-
ditionally. About such ends I can always seriously
raise the question whether I do desire them. But
the desire of the ultimate end is an absolute necessity
which depends on no if or condition, and it is the only
truly unconditional desire of our will. This desire I
can never question. Therefore, duty is the only neces- ]
sity which is absolutely and in the fullest sense of the I
word categorical. I

A point, too, of interest and importance in connection
with the categorical necessity of duty is, that in the case
of duty, the hypothetical series, out of which, as we said,
we obtain our categorical conclusion, is closed (in logical
terms, the minor is established) by nature and not by
the individual will or intellect, for it is nature that fixes
our wills on the final end, and thus by establishing the
minor proposition " I do wish the end," nature has also
established the categorical conclusion that I ought to

* The other method — denying the consequent — is not appUcable
here.

222 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

wish the means to it. In the fullest sense of the word,
then, moral duty is natural. For not only are certain
objects natural means to man's final end, but our desire
of that end is natural also, and, therefore, the necessity
of the means is natural.

HISTORICAL NOTE

The foregoing line of argument is followed by Fathers
Schiffmi, S.J.. and Taparelli, S.J., and by other Scholastics.
" In order," writes Taparelli,* " to form the judgment — the
good ought to be done — we require to realise mentally a
final necessity — i.e., a necessary connection of means with
end, such that without the means the end cannot be obtained.
But is this connection enough ? What if the end be not
itself necessary ? Shall we then be compelled to admit an
' ought.' Study is necessary to science — but is science
necessary ? If it is not, in what sense can you say that
study is necessary ? Its necessity is merely hypothetical.
But moral necessity is an absolute necessity ; a thesis, not a
hypothesis (that is, a categorical necessity, not a hypothetical).
It arises from an end to which every will tends with real
necessity. What end is that, but the object of perfect human
happiness? . . .iMoral obligation may therefore be defined
as an ought resulting from the necessary connexion of means
with a necessary end.")

This, the reader will have no difficulty in seeing, corre-
sponds exactly with the line of thought developed by our-
selves above.

Father Rickaby follows the same system of proof, though,
to our thinking, he does not bring it to the successful issue
to which it is brought by Taparelli. " The word ought," he
writes, " denotes a necessary bearing of means on end. To
every ought there is a pendent if. The means ought be taken
if the end is to be secured. Thus we say — You ought to
study harder if you want to pass your examination. The
person spoken to might reply — but what if I do . . . fail in
my examination ? He might be met with another otigld —
You ought not fail if you are to get your profession. Thus
the train of oughts and ifs extends imtil wo come (innlly to a
concatenation like the following — You ought not break your
word. &€., if you don't want to do violence to that nature
which is yours as a reasonable being." " If," Father Rickaby

* " Saggio Tcoretico di dritto naturale," page 55.

ON DUTY 223

continues, " a person goes on to ask — well what if I do con-
tradict my rational self ? We can only answer that he is a
fool for his question."

Father Rickaby's line of proof corresponds exactly with
that developed by us except for its conclusion, to the abrupt-
ness of which we venture to take exception. The question —
why a man may not contradict his rational self is not, it
seems to us, a foolish question. The man who asks " what if
1 do contradict my rational self " may be a fool indeed, not
for his question, but for wishing to violate his nature. He
may be a bad man also, but the question still remains, why
may I not be bad ? Why may I not violate my nature and
be a fool ? Until Father Rickaby has shown a why, he has
not established the ought of moral obligation. But once it
is shown that the final end is absolutely necessary to my wTlT,
ft becomes evident tlTat the means are necessary also.*

Mafiy "modern philosophers, some of them far from the
Scholastic tradition, have given clear expression to the view
that the proof of duty (if duty exists at all, which many of
them deny) lies obviously in the line of argument followed
by us. But without the guiding principles of the Scholastic
philosophy, it is not remarkable that they have failed to
bring the argument to a successful conclusion. In this
connection nobody has written more clearly or more rationally
than Dr. Simmel of the University of Berlin.

" If only," he writes, t " you can discover a final end for
the will, you will have discovered that which gives to the
endless teleological series meaning and content. Until you
can discover that end, you can always still ask — why we
ought wish this or that other end. But if you can discover
the supreme end of the will, then that question has no longer
any meaning." Simmel fails, however, to discover any such
single final end.

Again Sidgwick writes — " It can hardly be denied that the
recognition of an end as ultimately reasonable involves the
recognition of an obligation to do such acts as most conduce
to tliis end." But if an end ultimately reasonable involves
the recognition of obligation, a fortiori, an end on which
nature has so fixed the will that we cannot help wishing it,
involves an obligation of doing what leads to that end.

And Ed. von Hartmann — " All such ends " (namely goods
of the individual, the family, and the State) " are but means

♦ See also " Du Bien," by De Lantsheere (Louvain), page 76.
f " Einleitung," page 341. Many of the views here given are re-
tracted by Prof. Simmel in his later works

424 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to the absolute final end of the Universe (Weltzweck) ; and
their relative value, and the value-judgment that they give
rise to, must be determined from their teleological relation to
the final end."

And M. Fouillee, writing from the point of view of the
idee-force philosophy, says * — " If life is an object of desire
for men, all that tends to maintain and promote life becomes
hypothetically necessary. . . . These hypothetical impera-
tives become assertory the moment one adds — de facto man
wishes to live and be happy. . . . But as for judging whether
such an end is the supreme end, the supreme obligation,
whether it is imposed on each man categorically, whether
there is or is not a supreme principle of conduct, &c., these
are the problems of first philosophy since they deal with
ultimates, and they ought be reserved for philosophy
properly so called." f

Our theory of obligation raises the_diffi£ully whether
wHaT'we ha^ve said on the absolute necessity with which
our wills are made to tend to the final end can be recon-
ciled with the freedom of the will as regards the means ;
which, as we saw, is an indispensable condition of moral
obligation. If, it may be objected, the will is fixed
absolutely on the final end — that is, if it must wish this
end, and cannot help wishing it, and if the intellect
knows that certain acts — viz., bad acts — lead away
from this end, how is it possible for the will to desire
these acts, in other words, how can man do evil know-
ingly ?

Now this difficulty is met in the clearest and fullest
way by Aristotle in his Nichomachean Ethics, + and his
argument has Feen amplified in such a manner by St.
Thomas Aquinas as to merit the description of " the
one thoroughgoing refutation perhaps ever given of the
determinism of Socrates and Plato who reduced moral

• " Lcs 616mcnt.s socioloRiquos dc la Morale," pages 21 and 22.

f Some philosophers regard all final necessity as of its nature
hypothetical, anil these are naturally debarreci from following out any
such line of ))roof as that given in the text.

} Book VII., chapter 3.

ON DUTY 225

to intellectual error, and put it beyond the control of
the will." *

Aristotle's solution is as follows : knowledge is of
two kinds— knowledge in use f and knowledge possessed
but not in use ; in other words, knowledge applied to
action and knowledge in abeyance and not applied.
Now it would be a strange thing, says Aristotle, were a
man to know in the first way that his act was evil,
that is to know with knowledge in use, and then to do
the evil act ; but there is nothing impossible in a man
doing evil knowingly provided his knowledge though
possessed is in abeyance, | and not applied. Such a

• In other words these two philosophers succumbed to the diffi-
culty and taught that all vice is ignorance, that it is impossible to do
wrong knowingly.

t 6 xp^f^foi and 6 ?x'«"' M^'' o^ xP'^f^^"'^-

I Sir A. Grant considers that Aristotle borrowed the distinction
from the Theaetetus where Plato "introduces his famous image of
the pigeon-house. Every knowledge once acquired by the mind is
like a bird caught and placed in the pigeon-house ; it is possessed,
but not available, till it be chased within the enclosure and captured
anew."

Aristotle, continumg the argument given above, goes on to show
from a number of examples that this distinction is not invented merely
for the sake of solving the present difficulty. The possession of
knowledge which yet is not in use is a familiar experience. Crude
instances are those of the drunken man, the sleeper, and the man who
is driven mad by passion. The latter particularly knows, but his
knowledge is not in use. No doubt, says Aristotle, if you ask him he
will tell you that his act is bad, but he used the words as learners do
who repeat their master's sayings without realising their full import,
or as actors do who do not feel the things their speeches represent.
It is in some such way that a man does evil, knowing that it is evil,
yet without applying what he knows.

Aristotle then goes on to examine the psychological machinery
{(t>v<TiKw — ^he, of course, regarded Psychology as a branch of Physics)
by which the mind is enabled to put its knowledge in abeyance. This
consists in the fact that will is moved by the practical judgment
of the intellect declaring that this is good and to be done ; now this
judgment is itself a conclusion from many premisses, and it is in the
power of the intellect to ignore any one or group of the premisses
available, and to select a group that will represent the bad act as not
bad or even as good. Thus the man who is resolved upon doing a
bad but pleasure-producing act will emphasise the judgments, " pleasure
is a good thing," and " this act is pleasant," ignoring the other premisses
in which are set out the bad elements in the act.

We may Ix; permitted to remark at the conclusion of this note that
the fact that the passage here referred to is by some not regarded as
genuine in no way detracts from its value and force.

Vol. I— 15

226 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

one, though knowing that his act is bad is free to ignore
the element of evil, and to attend to what is good in
it (in every bad act there is some good element — it is
at least pleasure-producing) and to act for the sake of
that good element.

Thus far we are brought by Aristotle. The will is
able to do evil knowingly because knowledge may be put
in abeyance at any time. But then the difficulty arises
— ^how is a man responsible for his evil acts since it is
possible to do them only when one's knowledge is in
abeyance. It is here that St. Thomas takes up the
discussion. A man is responsible for his evil action
since it is by his own free will that he puts his know-
ledge in abeyance, by electing to consider this and to
ignore that, that is, his lack of regard for what his reason
knows is voluntary. " Whenever," writes St. Thomas,*
" the will tends to act under the motive of an appre-
hension of reason representing to it its own proper good,
a due action ensues. But when the will bursts out into
action upon the apprehension of the sensible appre-
hensive faculty, or even upon the apprehension of reason
itself, representing some other good than the proper
good of the will, there ensues in the action of the will a
moral fault. Therefore any fault}' action in the will is
preceded by a lack of due regard to reason, and to the
proper end of willing. I say " a lack of due regard to
reason " in such cases as when upon some sudden
apprehension of " sense the will tends to some good
that is pleasant according to sense ; I say " a lack of
due regard to the proper end of willing " in cases when
the reason arrives by reasoning at some good which is
not either now or in this way good, and still the will
tends to it as though it were its proper good. Now this
lack of due regard is voluntary ; for it is in the power
of the will to will and not to will ; it is Hkewise in its
power to direct reason actually to consider or to cease
from considering, or to consider this or that. Still,

* Sumtna Contra Gentiles (Rickaby's transl.) 111. lo.

ON DUTY 227

this failure of due consideration is not a moral evil ;
for, consideration or no consideration, or whatever the
consideration be on reason's part, there is no sin until
the will comes to tend to some undue end, which thenv
is an act of evil." Briefly, evil is possible through our K
not actually considering the evil which our act contains. 1
But in as much as this turning away of the reason from \
the evil of our act is itself free and voluntary, and inas- f
much as we do not cease to be aware of the evil of our act, 1
even when we ignore the evil of it, the whole act that J
we do, evil and good alike, is free and imputable to us. X

It is important to remember that this phenomenon
to which Aristotle directs our attention, viz., the putting
of our knowledge in abeyance in order to do evil repre-
sents a common and familiar operation. The sinner
always excuses himself, that is, he looks only to the
innocent or the good element in his act. But it is in con-
nection with the graver crimes that the conclusiveness of
Aristotle's reasoning becomes fully apparent. The man
who could not possibly kill his father as long as he
realises that he is killing a parent, will consciously and
freely turn his mind from the actual consideration of
this fact, and fix his attention on some wrong done
him or the good to be gained by his act, in order to
make the murder possible. And this unwillingness to
face a premeditated crime when it appears before one
in its full wickedness is not unnatural. The will is
fixed upon the good and recoils from evil. It is this
voice of nature that speaks so eloquently in the soul of
Lady Macbeth, when she prays the night to hide from
her the full evil of her terrible deed : for she fears that
even when " top full of direst cruelty " she still needs
something to conceal from her the character of her
own act.

" Come, thick night.
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife sec not the wound it makes
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry— hold, hold ! "

228 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

From these illustrations we can understand how,
though the will must wish the " good," it can yet do
evil deeds, and be responsible for the evil of thern. It
can do evil deeds, because " it is in the power of the will
to direct the reason actually to consider or cease from
considering," and it is responsible for its evil deeds
because " this lack of due regard is voluntar}^"

{d) Corollaries

(i) There is no force in the suggestion of Sidgwick
that, unless a man finds in his consciousness this cate-
gorical necessity, it is impossible to bring home the
idea, either by proving the existence of duty or in an}^
other wa}^ " I am aware," he writes (Book I., Chap. 3),
" that some persons will be disposed to answer all the
preceding argument by a simple denial that they can
find in their consciousness any such unconditional or
categorical imperative as I have been trying to exhibit.
If this is really the final result of self-examination in
any case, there is no more to be said. I, at least, do
not know how to impart the notion of moral obligation
to anyone who is entirely devoid of it." *

Sidgwick's admission — " I, at least," &c. — we regard
as equivalent to the suggestion that no argument could
possibly bring home the idea of moral obligation to one
who has not already that idea in his mind — a position
which practically amounts to contending that the idea
of moral obligation, if it exists at all, must be innate.
Now, this position is untenable. For no argument is
vitiated merely because its conclusion tells us something
which we do not already find in our consciousness.
The principle would be absurd. For instance, could we
hold that, unless a man finds in his mind the idea of

• Prof. Paulsen also maintains that we cannot disprove Ethical
Nihilism — that is, that if a man declares that he cannot find in his
consciousness any such .sentiment as that of duty or moral wrong, it
would Ix; impossible to prove to him that these things arc existent
realities (" System of Ethics," page 374).

ON DUTY 229

tlie dark rays of the spectrum, he is free to reject the
proof by which the existence of these rays is estabhshed ?
That a p'-oof of their existence should be necessary is
itself a pro f that at some time men must have been
without the idea of them, and we have already shown
that a proof of duty is also necessary.

(2) Our second corollary is that moral duty is rssf;n-
tially dependent upon God, and cou/d 110/ cxisl uulhout
Hiin. For (a) Dut\', as we saw, (hiHiuls on two
necessities, both relating to the last end — namely, the
necessity which directs the will absolutely and irresis-
tibly to the last end, and the necessity of certain means
to this last end. But God is our last end, as has been
proved already. Therefore, duty is essentially depen-
dent on God. We must, therefore, reject the theory
of Independent Duty, which holds that duty has no
ultimate relation to and dependence on God. (6) Again,
the natural law cannot be self-sustaining, since, like the
finite things in which it is, and which it directs, it is
itself finite and dependent. Hence the natural law of
doing moral good depends intrinsically on that higher
law of God from which all other law proceeds — namely,
the Eternal law, the law existing within the Divine
intellect. This eternal law is, as we shall show in a
later chapter, the necessary law of God's own nature,
and is, in fact, one with His nature, (c) God cannot
but bind His creatures to the following of His law, and
hence, in violating the natural law of doing the good,
we are violating His precept and offending against His
majesty. It is this personal reference to the Divine
majesty (which, it should be remembered, attaches to
the conception of duty not accidentally but necessarily
and essentially) that lends to duty that sense of personal
compelling power and of sanctity which are so insepar-
able from it. {d) But the conception of Duty has a
wider and a fuller content still than that of majesty
offended, as we shall now see. The question " why
ought I to do the good " may be understood in a two-

230 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

fold way. First, there is the ethician's question — What
are your proofs of duty ? How am I necessitated in
any way to do the good and avoid evil when I know
that it is in my power to do either at my own will ?
This question has been answered in what precedes.
Secondly, there is the plain man's question — What if I
do violate duty ? What then ? For the plain man
the question of consequences is all in all. For the
ethician, if he is sensible, it is a great deal. This second
question we can only answer by pointing out, as before,
that if we transgress the natural law of doing the good,
we violate the Divine eternal law, and that the Divine
majesty must punish us for its violation. For it cannot
be the same to the Divine majesty whether we regard
or disregard the Divine law, and, therefore, it cannot
be the same with us whether we have observed or
violated it. Every legislator must vindicate his law,
and none the less so when the interests which it involves
are eternal. We should also remark that it would not
be right to regard these consequences as accidental
merely, or extrinsic to duty. They are essential and
spring from its very nature. From this aspect of the
consequences of duty, or of the pain that attends upon
its conscious violation, spring both the fear of evil and
the mind to do good, and we should be wanting in our
duty as ethicians, as well as misleading in our teaching,
were we to fail to take account of it. The conception,
therefore, of " independent duty " cannot be accepted
either as true or as an adequate account of duty.

{e) Some other Theories of Duty

We will now consider other theories on duty — its
meaning and its ground. We will take up these
theories not in the order of their popularity, but in
the more logical order of the degree in which they de-
part from that objective character of the ground and
proof of duty which we have established in the fore-

ON DUTY 231

going pages — that is to say, we shall take them in a
descending scale of objectivity.

(i) Theory that duty is a " willing thetotality of ends."^

This theory is widely taught amongst certain schools
of modern Ethicians, yet in forms that vary so much
that a common expression for them is not easy to find.

We shall, therefore, take one form — that of Dr. Lipps
in " Die Ethischen Grundfragen." " The conscious-
ness of moral duty is nothing else," he writes, " than
. . . the consciousness of the pure, all-sided, objectively-
conditioned will," * This " all-sided, objectively-con-
ditioned will " he explains as a will to which nothing
is wanting which has a significance for human valuing
and willing. In other words, it is a will that possesses
all that any man can set a value on — a will that pos-
sesses the totality of human ends, so that the man of
duty can truly say " alle moglichen menschlichen Zwecke
sind in mir " — " all possible (human) ends are mine."

Criticism — In the first place, it might be thought that
this theory is rather a theory of the content of duty than
a theory of duty itself, that it tells us rather what we
ought to desire than what the ought itself is, or in what
the ought is grounded. But this, though part of Dr.
Lipps' teaching, is not his whole theory, for the view
just quoted, that the content of duty includes the
totality of ends, implies another and more fundamental
theory which has gained a wide acceptance amongst
modern Ethicians — the theory, namel}', that the giound
of duty or moral necessity is to be found in the necessity
which compels the will to choose out its objects from
amongst the totality of ends, which, therefore, is to be
regarded as the adequate and all-inclusive object of
the will. The will must choose amongst the totality of
ends. This " must," we are told, is dut3^

But this theory of Dr. Lipps is false in both con-
ceptions— (a) that of the content of duty, and {b) that
• " Die Ethischen Grundfragen," page 129.

232 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of its grounds, (a) The content of duty cannot be the
totality of ends, since there are some ends which not
only are not a part of our duty but which it is our duty
to avoid. These are bad ends which no man may seek.
Again, some ends are possible to some men and are their
duty, whilst they are impossible to others, and therefore
cannot be their duty. Thus the ends of a subject are
not those of a ruler. The ends of a father and husband
are not those of the son. The father must seek the
means of sustenance for his family. Young children
cannot do so. Some ends, again, are possible to all,
but they are not the duty of any. Thus, though every
man is bound to eat, no man is bound to eat this food
or that. Our duty extends to necessities merely.
Hence the content of duty is not the totality of ends.

{b) Neither is the totality of ends the ground of duty.
For duty is the necessity of seeking good ends only
and of avoiding evil ends. But the necessity of choos-
ing our objects from out of the totality of ends is not a
necessity of doing the good, but of seeking out any
object good or bad, provided only it be included in
the totality of ends. The necessity, therefore, which
the totality of ends imposes on the will cannot be the
ground of duty.

To some extent, however. Dr. Lipps' theory presents
an analogy to that which we have adopted from St.
Thomas Aquinas — that the end of man is the perfect
good. For since duty is grounded in our wish for the
perfect good, and since in the perfect good is contained
all possible good, therefore, duty might be described as
the necessity of doing that which will lead to the totality
of all ends. But still our theory could not be con-
founded with the theory defended by Dr. Lipps.* For

• The reader can also trace analogies between the theory of M.
Guyau, to be dcscrilK'd later, and that of St. Thomas on the nature of
obligation. We do not know of any theory of duty (except the positi-
vistic theory, which is simply a denial of duty) which might not be
described as in some way a reflection of one point or anotlier in St.
Thomas' exposition.

ON DUTY 233

duty in our theory is the necessity of desiring not the
final end but the means that lead to it, whereas the
analogy referred to lies between the totality of ends
and the final end itself. Again, duty in St. Thomas
Aquinas' theory extends only to such means as are
necessary to our final end. It does not extend to the
totality of ends. In Dr. Lipps' theory it extends to
the totality of ends. Again, duty in our theory is
grounded on the necessity with which the will desires
not all ends, but only the final end, in which end is
contained virtualiter et eminenter all that any being can
desire. In Dr. Lipps' theory duty is grounded in the
totality of actual ends.

To our argument that in Dr. Lipps' theory every
action should be accounted good, and that hence his
theory cannot be regarded as a proper ethical account
of duty, there is one possible reply. In the chapter of
the " Ethischen Grundfragen " which precedes that on
Duty, Dr. Lipps speaks of the good desire as th.it which
belongs not to man as an individual but to man as man.
Therefore, it may be said that by " wilUng the totality
of all men's desires " is only meant the willing of those
things which all men desire not as individuals but as
men ; in other words, those things which all men desire
in common. But this interpretation only widens the
breach between Dr. Lipps' theory and ours. For it
excludes from the content of duty many ends which
are proper to certain men but which it is their bounden
duty to attain. If, then, by " alle moglichen Men-
schlichen Zwecke " we are to understand all human
desires, we put upon the individual duties which cer-
tainly do not belong to him. If by it is meant the ends
which all men seek in common, we exclude duties which
certainly are binding on individual men. The theory,
therefore, of duty as the totahty of human ends is untrue
in any case.

234 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(2) The disjunctive theory.

We have seen that duty is the categorical necessity of
taking such neans as are neceaeaty for the attaining of
the final end. Professor Meyer, on the contrary, in his
" Grundsatze," gives expression to the pecuKar theory
that duty is a disjunctive, not a categorical necessity,
that its formula is either — or (entweder-oder), meaning
that a man must either do certain actions or bear the
consequences in the way of punishment — either do the
right or suffer the punishment of wrong-doing.

Criticism — Now, this theory contradicts the most
essential element in moral duty — nameh', its absolute
or categorical nature. My dut}- towards the truth is not
expressed in the formula — " Either tell it or suffer."
My duty is simply and solely to tell the truth, for this
is the only alternative that fulfils the law. The other
alternative — that is, the undergoing of punishment — not
only does not fulfil the law but actually presupposes
that the law has been already broken. But that which
presupposes duty violated cannot be regarded as a ful-
filment of duty. Hence duty is not the fulfilment of
either alternative, but of one only. I fulfil the law only
when I observe it, not when I undergo punishment for
not observing it. Duty, therefore, is not a disjunctive
necessity.

(3) Theory of Psychological Intuitionism.
Psychological Intuitionism means that we believe

duty to be a reality because, on examining our own
selves, we find that there is within us something which
corresponds to our notion of duty, or is an indication of
itp presence — namely, a natural submission to law, a
shrinking before law, a natural hurraing away from
certain deeds as from things that a man should avoid,
and a natural going out to others as to things a man
ought to do, with feelings in the one case of aversion,
and in the other of approbation'. Now, these pheno-
mena, we are told, are nothing more than the effects

ON DUTY 235

and signs of duty, things inexplicable save as the natural
accompaniments of duty, and through them we have an
immediate knowledge of ourselves as subject to duty.

Intuitionism is the theory of Butler, Kant, Fichte,
and Schelling. We should, however, explain that Kant,
Fichte, and Schelling, besides professing to possess an
immediate introspective intuition of duty and law, claim
in addition that for purposes of science it is necessary
to deduce the existence of duty from some deeper
metaphysical ground, like the ego or the will — otherwise
it could not be regarded as a scientific fact or a fact of
philosophy. They nevertheless admit that the intro-
spective act comes first, that even before a man attempts
the deduction of duty he has but to turn his mind in
on himself in order to find duty asserting itself within
his mind, and claiming from him notice and assent.
Psychologically, according to these philosophers, duty
is self-evident ; but as scientific men they claim that
we must seek to ground duty upon a deeper metaphysical
basis than mere intuition. The only question, however,
that now concerns us is whether mere psychological

r intuition is a sufficient ground for our believing in the
existence of duty.

One or two expressions of this theory will help to
make it clear. But before quoting them we should
remark that to the Psychological Intuitionists the
problem of the existence of duty is not a different pro-
blem from that of the existence of a conscience or a
/ I moral nature in man. Their claim is that if they can
iS- discover that man is naturally directed by a moral
Y conscience, they shall have proved that man is also
^ subject to duty, which is submission to conscience.
Hence, in these passages that follow, any reference to
conscience or a moral nature may always be regarded
as including a reference to duty.
\ " Every man," writes Kant, " has a conscience and
finds himself observed by an inward judge, which
threatens and keeps him in awe ; and this power . . .

236 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

j follows him like a shadow when he thinks to escape.
He may, indeed, stupify himself with pleasures and
distractions, but cannot avoid now and then coming to
himself or awaking, and then he at once perceives its
awful voice. . . . This original intellectual and (as a
conception of duty) moral capacity called conscience
has this peculiarity in it that although its business is a
business of man with himself, yet he finds himself com-
pelled by his reason to transact it as if at the command
of another person." *

Fichte writes : — " When that impulsion (namely, our
moral nature impelling us to certain acts) is discovered
by him {i.e., any man) in his self-observation as a fact,
and it certainly is assumed that each rational being will
thus discover it, if he but closely observe himself, man
may simply accept it as such fact . . . without en-
quiring from what grounds it becomes thus. Perhaps
he may fully resolve to place unconditioned faith in
the requirements of that compulsion." f

The following brief and clear statement of the theory
taken from a French writer % will be useful : — " II y a
d'abord I'evidence interieure, I'oracle de la Conscience,
qui n'admet pas de replique ni d'hesitation ; nous
sentons le devoir parler en nous comme avec une voix,
nous croj^ons au devoir comme a quelque chose qui vit,
qui palpite en nous, comme a une partie de nousmemes,
bien plus comme a ce qu'il y a en nous de meilleur."

Criticism — ^We shall discuss two questions : —

(i) Are there such moral impulses or such voices in
man r.s those referred to by the Psychological Intui-
tionists ?

(2) Even if there are, what is their binding force ?

(i) I cannot find in my own mind any trace of these
impulses or of a voice commanding me to do certain
actions such as that of which those Intuitionists speak.

• " MetaphyHiciil Elements of Ethics " (Abbot), page 321.

t " Science of Ethics," page 17.

j Guyau's " Esquissc d'unc Morale," &c., page 66.

ON DUTY 237

I find within myself a reaaoned judgment that I ought
to do certain acts, and that reasoned judgment naturally
impels me to those actions just as the judgment that I
ought to save up money if I want to be secure in my old
age impels me to save money. But this is very far
indeed from the impulses and the voice spoken of by
the Psychological Intuitionists. For (a) the voice of
conscience is described by many of these Philosophers
as a voice naturally superior to me and commanding me
through a part of me and within me. But the reasoned
judgment which I find within my own mind and which
is the only trace I can find of a voice of duty is my own
judgment, elicited by myself, and, therefore, not superior
to me. {h) Also the impulse of duty spoken of by the
Psychological Intuitionists is an impulse which is born
with us and arises out of the very nature of man, whereas
the impulse of duty which I am conscious of is nothing
more than an acquired rational conviction, not innate in
any sense, but the product partly of instruction and
partly of our own personal reasoning, (c) Again, these
impulses and voices described by the Psychological
Intuitionists are unlike anything else in our mental life,
they are sui generis, different from our reason itself,
whereas the conviction of duty that we are conscious
of is a common judgment, and as a mental act it is
similar to a thousand other judgments, and different
only from them in the subject-matter to which they
severall}' refer, {d) Again, according to the Psycho-
logical Intuitionists, to violate duty is to offend against
an inner tribunal, to which I am responsible and of
which I am afraid. But my consciousness reveals to
me no such inner tribunal and no sense of responsibility
to it or of fear of its judgments. When I violate duty
I know that I have violated the law of a legislator who
is outside me and to whom I shall have to render an
account of my action. We cannot, therefore, accept
this theory that our intuitive consciousness makes duty
known to us immediately and directly and without

238 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

reasoning of any sort in the same way that we become
aware of our ordinary acts of tliinking, feehng, speaking.

We should, however, warn the reader that when we
call in question the existence of any such inner voice of
duty as that spoken of by the Intuitionists, it is no part
of our theory to deny Conscience itself or the fact that
Conscience is the Voice of God in the sense of truly
representing His Law and Will in our regard. What
we deny is the existence of an inner voice distinct from
our own judgments and superior to ourselves, yet part
of us and claiming submission from us on its own ac-
count, and not as merely representing the law of a
Personal Divinity 'outside of and above us. With this
understanding we go on to our second point, which is
as follows : —

(2) Even if there were in man a voice, a feeling, an
impulsion such as the Intuitionists describe, urging him
to shrink, to bend before an inner tribunal, would man
be bound to shrink before such a voice or feeling ? Is
he bound to acknowledge in any way the binding force
of those inner feelings ? In other words, are those
feelings a legitimate and valid authority ? Why should
we submit to their guidance ? Our repl}' is that even
if we admit their existence there is nothing— either fact
of sense or analytic truth — to inform us of the authority
of these voices and feelings. FeeHngs, inner voices, and
such things can rarely if ever be accepted as guides to
truth, and the voice that announces itself as the Voice
of God within us is not likely to be a better guide than
any other inner voice or feeling. We have, therefore,
as already explained, a right to ask — Whence is this
voice ? What guarantee lias it that It is what it declares
itself to be ? How does it justify its ckiims ?

These questions some Psychological Ethicians regard
as unholy. " I would not," writes Herbert,* " profane
the sacred Temple of the Practical Reason by asking
authorisation from the ' Sittliche Ideen ' (the Moral

• " Allgemcinc Practischc Philosophic " (chap. I.).

ON DUTY 239

Ideas) dwelling therein." And Beneke * claims that
we cannot call in question the " note of necessity " that
accompanies the good act — it belongs to the "deepest
ground-nature of the human soul."

Such fears and such exaggerated reverence will not
provide this inner tribunal with the credentials or proofs
of its authority which no tribunal can afford to dispense
with. For if the inner tribunal of law and duty of
which these philosophers speak has real authority over
us it should be able to justify its authority. If it re-
fuses to do so it is plain that it has no authority — that
it is nothing more than mere subjective fancy. It is
then a fair target for the jest of P. Ree.f who, in attack-
ing Conscience theories in general, has chiefly before his
mind's eye a sort of Conscience like that of the Psycho-
logical Intuitionists. He amusingly compares Con-
science to Lohengrin, and describes it as remaining
only as long as we ask not whence it is, but flying when
we ask that question.
I We cannot, then, accept the theory that duty is
/ revealed to us in our inner consciousness intuitively.
We know it as we know other intellectual truths — by
[ reasoning and instruction. +

• " Grundlinien."

t " Entstehung des Gewissens," page 229.

J We have not space in these pages to notice at any length a recent
modification of the Psychological Intuitionist Theory known as " Morale
Criticiste " or " Phenomenal Criticism " or " Morale de la foi," which
has been developed by certain members of the Nco- Kantian school,
notably M. Renouvier and M. Secretan, and which tends more even
than the theory we have just criticised to exclude the possibility of a
Science of Ethics.

The principal points in these Neo-Kantian theories, which differ a
good deal from one another (an account of some of them is to be found
in M. Guyau's " Esquisse d'une Morale sans obligation," page 62, and
in M. Fouillee's " Critique des Systemes de Morale Contempo rains,"
page 77) are that duty is to be regarded as belonging solely to the
phenomenal world ; that duty is a simple and irreducible phenomenon ;
that we believe in it because it is our duty to believe in it {" je ne suis
pas logiquement oblige de croire au devoir ; mais j'y suis tenu morale-
ment. Je raffirme et je passe," writes M. Ch. Secretan in " Le
principle de la Morale," page 128) ; that we do not need proof, there-
fore, of the existence of duty, belief being prior to proof. The theory
is an evident development of the Kantian Ethics.

240 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

{4) Positivistic theory of duty.
Moral Positivism has many forms, all of which have
this common element, that they regard Duty as nothing
more than a subjective feeling, which corresponds to
nothing in the objective world. Our sense of duty, this
theory explains, 2S__nierely_ an illusion, which has been
brought about in our minds by tKose most fruitful
sources of error and illusion — the laws of association.
How the feeling of duty arises under the influence of
these laws is explained by the Positivists as follows :—
Duty is simply a feeling that something is necessary or
should be done. This feeling of duty originated tn~the'
feeling of external constraint connected with certain
acts — those acts, namely, which were once enforced by
tribal laws or laws of State, and the violation of which
was accompanied by punishment, and therefore by pain.
The necessity of doing such acts was a hypothetical or
disjunctive necessity — the necessity, namely, either of
obeying or of undergoing punishment, which, according
to the Positivists, is the only original kind of necessity
attaching to action.

Gradually, however, they explain, this hypothetical
necessity became changed into categorical necessity.
The " or undergo punishment " disappeared from
memory ; and from the feeling that acts should be
done in order to avoid punishment men's minds passed,
under the influence of the laws of association, to neglect
the condition or the disjunction, and to regard these
same acts as necessary in themselves — as things that
should be done on their own account. This feeling that
acts are necessary categorically and on their own ac-
count is, it is explained, our feeling of moral duty.

Thus, Spencer writes : * " Thinking of the extrinsic
effects of a forbidden act (that is, the punishment im-

• " Data of Ethics," page 127. Spencer also claims that the
consciousness of the sujxjriority of some feelings over others — the
consciousness, namely, that some feelings arc meant as guides for
others — has a good deal to do with the formation of the abstract con-
ception of duty.

ON DUTY 241

posed by positive laws) excites a dread which continues
present while the intrinsic effects of the act (that is,
the natural effects of the act itself) are thought of, and
being thus linked with the intrinsic effects causes a
vague sense of moral compulsion "

And Bain * writes : — "By a familiar effect of con-
tiguous association the dread of punishment clothes the
forbidden act with a feeling of aversion which in the end
persists of its own accord, and without reference to
punishment. Actions that have long been connected
in the mind with pains and penalties come to be con-
templated with a disinterested repugnance. They seem
to give pain on their own account. . . . Now, when by
such transference a self-subsisting sentiment of aversion
has been created, the conscience seems to be detached
from all external sanctions and to possess an isolated
footing in the mind. It has passed through the stage
of reference to authority and has become a law to
itself. . . . There is no act, however trivial, that
cannot be raised to the position of a moral act by the
imperative of Society."

THE TWO FORMS OF THE POSITIVISTIC THEORY

We must now distinguish between two prominent
forms of this Positivistic theory of duty, which differ
greatly in regard to the forces to which they make
appeal in order to explain the origin of our conception
or feeling of duty. These two forms are distinguished
as (a) the simple Association, and (&) the Evolutionist
theory of duty.

{a) The simple Association theory, represented by
Mill, explains the transformation of the feeling of hypo-
thetical necessity into the feeling of categorical necessity
or of duty by laws of Association only. As children,
it informs us, we feel that certain actions are necessary

♦ " Moral Science," page 457
Vol. I— 16

242 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

in order to avoid punishment. The feeling of necessity
is one of fear of external authority. Later on, this end
or condition, the avoiding of punishment, drops out of
sight, and then we believe that these actions are neces-
sary on their own account.

(6) Evolutionists (Spencer, Darwin, Professor Simmel,
Professor Wundt), whilst acknowledging the influence
of the laws of Association, still regard these laws as
inadequate of themselves to explain the conception of
duty, and they, therefore, supplement the Associationist
theory by considerations of Evolution.

The supplementary factors invoked by the Evolu-
tionists in explanation of " duty " are principally two-
fold :—

First, they make appeal to the law of heredity, and
claim that the process which has resulted in our present
feeling of duty began, not in the childhood of each
individual, but in distant ages long ago when man first
began to rule his fellowmen by means of laws and
commands, and the dread of punishments. It is the
feelings of external compulsion and of fear thus gene-
rated, and accumulated and consolidated during that
long period, and transmitted by heredity from one age
to another, and moulded within the consciousness of the
race under the laws of Association into newer and newer
forms at each period, that have, according to the Evolu-
tionist Ethicians, become transformed into our present
conception of moral necessity or obligation.

Secondly, they also claim to show how the mere fear *

* Evolutionists are not all agreed as to the manner in which the
transmitted feelings become associated so as to form the fcclinn of
duty, nor do they agree as to what feelings arc involved in its forma-
tion. We may take the views defended by Prof. Taylor in his " Problem
of Conduct " and by Prof. Paulsen in his " System of Ethics " as ex-
amples of this divergency. The evolutionary process, Prof. Taylor tells
us, begins with the feeling of dissatisfaction with our own act — for
instance, the discontented feeling of the Australian whose boomerang
has failed to bring down a duck. This feeling, however, is not itself
a feeling of duty. Duty first appears when personal dissatisfaction
becomes transformed into, or is sup])lcmi'nt<'(l bv, tril)ril (hssntiafddion.
Then comet the r$ligious period, in which our imayinatious nprisent

ON DUTY 243

of external authority (which, according to Mill, suffi-
ciently explains our feeling of duty, but which, accord-
ing to the Evolutionists is not sufficient, since duty is
felt to be not only a categorical necessity, but also a
categorical necessity laid upon us from within ourselves)
becomes transformed into a feeling of internal authority,
and thus produces in ourselves what is known as the
feeling of autonomy. This feeling of internal authority
has its beginnings, according to some writers, in the
felt superiority of the more highly evolved over the
less evolved impulses within us. Others explain how
under the influence of heredity the feelings of the
whole race come to be transmitted to and consolidated
in each individual man, so that the individual becomes
a microcosm of humanity or of the State, and the law
and authority of the State are thus felt within himself
as if belonging to himself. From this arises the feeling
of self-rule or of autonomy.

In all these theories, however, the original factor out
of which the feeling of duty is said to be evolved is that
of external compulsion. Dread and compulsion are thus
the working factors — time and inheritance the con-
ditions under which, in the Evolutionary theory, our
f eeUngs of coerciveness grow into that of mora ) duty.

the Deity as punishing for offences against the tribal will, and then as
punishing our secret actions on their own account. It is religion, he
says, that has " substituted an inward morality of character and
intention for a legalistic morality of outward performance " (page 142).
The last or purely ethical stage is reached when this conception of ex-
ternal law-giver and outward sanction gives place to that of internal
law-giver and inward sanction— a transformation which easily becomes
possible as soon as the tribal religion comes to be regarded as a part only
of the Universal religion. For then we see that there are bad acts
which yet are not forbidden by our tribal religion, and in that way
the conception of a personal law-giver gives way gradually to the
conception of impersonal prohibition, which ultimately takes the
form of a prohibition arising out of the nature of the act itself.

Prof. Paulsen asserts that the feeling of duty arises from the re-
action that we feel when custom is violated — a reaction that reveals
itself as the authoritative command of, or as punishment inflicted by,
parents, people, and gods, whom we regard as the custodians of the
world's customs. The feeling of duty, however, is an evolutionary
growth, and is present in an imperfect form in animals as well as in
men (page 343).

244 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

It would be impossible for us to criticise the various
forms of this Positivist theory in detail, and we shall
confine ourselves to a consideration of the one funda-
mental principle of all these theories — the principle,
namely, that our conception of moral obligation is a
growth out of former feelings ol compulsion by public
authority, whether that authority be felt as without
or within the mind, and whether it be due to Evolu-
tionary factors or to mere association.

Criticism — {a) The positivist theory of duty is only a
necessary appendage to the positivist theory of " good "
or of moral distinctions, and stands or falls with that
theory. But by showing that there are in man natural
appetites, we have already disproved the positivist
theory of " good." Therefore, their theory of duty is
also disproved, at least indirectly.

(6) Having once proved, as we claim to have done in
this chapter, the reality of duty, the question of the
origin of our idea of duty can be answered in one way
only — namely, that our idea of duty arose from our
perception of the reality of duty itself. To imagine
intangible and unverifiable hypotheses such as those
formulated by the positivists concerning the origin of
the idea of duty, when duty has been proved to be a reality
would be like forming deep metaphysical hypotheses to
explain the existence of a photograph of which we
know the original, and neglecting the simplest explana-
tion of all — namely, that it is a copy of and represents
the original.

(c) Mere association, even when helped on by heredity,
cannot force our intellects into beUeving or assenting to
any proposition. Association may, indeed, create cer-
tain subjective bonds between our ideas, but it can
never give rise to judgment. A colour and a perfume
may always occur together, but the subjective associa-
tion that thereby arises between them can never make
UH believe that one is the other. Consequently, mere
associations, however long-continued, cannot explain

ON DUTY 245

our belief in duty. And this argument is strengthened
by the consideration that whereas, on the one hand, if
the Association hypothesis is to be invoked to explain
our belief in duty, we should be satisfied that the hypo-
thesis is not itself the merest imagination — that is, we
should be satisfied that mere association has actually
given rise to intellectual beliefs in very many cases — on
the other hand, it is plain that associationsists are not
able to point to a single indisputable instance in which
association has ever given rise to an intellectual belief.
An hypothesis of this kind should not be purely
imaginary. Again, even if an association could become
a judgment, the mind retains always the power of re-
turning upon its judgments, of examining them, and,
if they be not capable of some kind of rational justi-
fication, of rejecting them. Yet under no circumstances
will men ever come to reject the ordinary principles of
natural duty such as that it is a duty of parents to
educate their offspring. Hence the necessity of these
judgments is not due to association. Neither is the
conception of duty in general due to association,

{d) Supposing that mere external compulsion by the
State could generate the judgment that certain acts are
intrinsically necessary, then if any customs like the
wearing of pig-tails by the Chinese were to become a
universal law, we should gradually come to beheve that
such things were intrinsically a duty, and that non-
conformity to them was intrinsically a violation of duty,
and we should still believe it was a violation of duty
even though the law forbidding it were to be repealed.
Yet this, we claim, no sensible man could possibly
believe. For, many such customs have prevailed
amongst men for a very long time, and then have
fallen into disuse. Yet no trace survived of a feeling,
or even of the beginning of a feeling, that they were
obligatory.

[c) Even if the State were to command such acts as
lying, stealing, and blasphemy, we could never come

246 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to regard these things as intrinsically our duty. Hence
extrinsic compulsion could not of itself give rise to the
idea of intrinsic obligation.

(/) If the idea of obligation be wholly due to State
and to social compulsion, the State must once have
formally commanded such acts as the care of offspring,
marital fidelity, and the like. Now, if the State did
prescribe such courses of conduct it must have recog-
nised the necessity of these courses. For the State
cannot have acted at random in the past any more than
in the present. But the duty of conduct is nothing
more than the necessity of it. Hence State compulsion
must have been itself built upon conceptions of duty.
Consequently, duty does not originate in mere external
compulsion. Also, the legislator makes laws because
he is persuaded that it is his duty to secure the common
good, and that it is the duty of the people to obey them.
Legislation then supposes duty.

(g) If we must suppose that the intellectual concep-
tion of duty has grown out of some formerly experienced
necessity it is much easier to imagine that the concep-
tion of duty arose out of our experience of the necessity
of objects for our inner appetites than from the neces-
sity of outer compulsion. For the feeling of duty, like
our appetites, is intrinsic not extrinsic to man, whereas
compulsion is extrinsic. Besides, these appetites are
older than the laws of society — they are as old as the
individual himself, and hence the feeling of duty is more
likely to have originated with appetite than in the feel-
ing of external compulsion by society. But if the con-
ception of duty arose from the feeling of the necessities
of certain appetites its origin accords with the theory of
duty which we have sought to establish in the present
chapter.

{h) The po8iti\i.st theory of duty is built on the sup-
position that tlicre is no fmal end of our wills. As we
showed in the present chapter, many positivists have
admitted that if there were a fmal end to the will, the

ON DUTY 247

series of hypothetical necessities would become a cate-
gorical series, and would be our duty. But we claim to
have established the existence of this final end.

{i) Lastly, we might argue against Posit ivist
Morality on the ground of expediency. If at any
time men should come generally to believe that obli-
gation is mere imagination, that there is nothing in
the nature of things that corresponds to the concep-
tion of obligation, then morals must decline, and the
race must quickly come to ruin. Taking man as he
is, even at his best, we cannot, as Spencer does, look
forward to a time when man will not need the con-
ception of obligation in order to do good deeds. This
being the case, we should not lightly and without
sufficient reason accept the theory of Positivism.

But there is no sufficient reason for accepting the
theory of Positivism. Positivism is grounded on no
reasons, no proofs. It is an historical theory without
historical support (the conception of duty is certainly
as old as history) ; an ethical theory without ethical
grounds (its one aim is to disprove morality, to render
it meaningless, to show that it has sprung out of error) ;
an anthropological theory, which yet contradicts all that
we know of man (the parent must always have recog-
nised that he has a natural duty to his children, the
citizen that it is his natural duty to support the State) ;
a sociological . theory which cuts at the very root of
society (society could not now subsist a day, nor could
it have subsisted in the past had no one believed he had
a natural duty to help to maintain it). For these reasons
we reject the positivi^tfc conception of Duty.

(5) Theory of the complete and formal rejection of duty.

M. Guyau has formulated a theory which frankly and
completely discards " Duty " without retaining even the
shadow of it which lingers in some of the positivist
theories. The title of his book in which the subject is

248 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

discussed will leave the reader in no doubt. It is
" Esquisse d'une Morale sans Obligation ni Sanction."
The theory of the future, he says in his preface, is not
the theory of " autonomous " reason biit of " anomous "
reason.

According to M. Guyau there is no obligation, no
duty, and no sanction. But he admits there is in the
life of man a certain force or influence which acts on
man's mental faculties, and which moves his will, his
intellect, and his senses, soliciting or persuading them,
saying " II faut — ." But this force is not duty, for
there is no such thing as duty.

What, then, are these various things which can move
us as duty would — ^that play the part of duty, or, as
M. Guyau says, are a " substitute for or an equivalent
of duty " ? The fundamental principle in these moving
forces is " life," for life is the cause of all action. It
is the efficient cause of all imconscious action in man
and the final cause or end of conscious action. Life is
the necessary object of every desire, and it is that which
moves us to every act. We must see now how the
movements of life supply us with equivalents of duty.
" Let us place ourselves successively," he writes, " at
the three points of view — ^that of the will, that of the
intellect, that of sense."

1st. For the will this equivalent of duty is superabun-
dance of life, the power of life to overflow in action, the
power to act. (Existence d'un certain devoir imper-
sonnel cr66 par la pouvoir memc d'agir. Premier Equiv-
alent du devoir.) " Life cannot maintain itself except
on condition of expanding itself," and in expanding it
produces a feeling of " prcssion interne," which is a
feeling of inner compulsion. We can make comparison
with the plant to illustrate life's impulse to expand.
The plant cannot help bursting into flower, for the
general tendency of life is " Ever onward, ever higher
still." The same impulse of life has given to the will
the tendency ever to expand, which is our capacity for

ON DUTY 249

action. This is the first equivalent of duty. As regards
the necessity of acting and the feehng of necessity the
" pression interne " explains all that duty explains.

2nd. How does the intellect tend to move one to
action, and what, therefore, is its equivalent for duty ?
M. Guyau answers : — Thought and act are really one
in principle. No bridge is needed to pass from one to*
the other. All ideas are force-ideas (idees-forces). That
is to say, the idea of action tends to pass into action
and supplies the intellect with the needful motor power.
The Conception itself, therefore, supplies the second
equivalent of duty (Existence d'un certain devoir imper-
sonnel cree par la conception meme de Taction. Deux-
ieme equivalent du devoir).

3rd. What equivalent for duty is possessed by sense ?
According to M. Guyau, sense (sensibilite) acquires this
equivalent by evolution — that is, by its tending ever to
evolve to a higher and more complex condition. M.
Guyau tells us that " les plaisirs egoistes " are on a
lower plane than altruistic pleasure — that as pleasures
become higher they become less egoistic and more
altruistic — that as pleasure becomes more complex it
becomes more sociable and further removed from the
pleasure of the isolated individual. In the higher
degree of evolution, therefore, the sociability of pleasure
becomes an essential part of pleasure. This feeling of
tendency towards altruism imposes on us a " bond "
(lien) which is the third equivalent of duty. It is created
by " la fusion croissante des sensibilites."

In a brief resumptive paragraph M. Guyau explains
these three equivalents of duty. " Prendre la con-
science de devoirs moraux, c'est prendre la conscience
de pouvoirs interieurs et superieurs qui se developpent
en nous, et nous poussent a agir, d'idees qui tendent a
se realiser, par leur force propre, de sentiments qui par
leur evolution meme tendenf a se socialiser, a s'empregner
de toute la sensibilite presente dans I'humanite et dans
I'univers."

250 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Now, all these forces or tendencies to action beget in
us instincts, the highest of which is the altruistic;
instinct.

But the question arises — Suppose that some day men
should ask why should they follow these instincts, or
why may they not do what they wish, what, then, will
become of morality ? Moral duty, on M. Guyau's
teaching, does not exist, consequently we cannot answer
that men ought to follow these instincts. In that case
is there anything in man that can act as an equiva-
lent of duty and save morality ? According to M.
Guyau there are two tendencies in man which can
" lutter contre la dissolution morale et suppleer ainsi
I'obligation absolue des anciens moralistes." They are
the following, and they supply the fourth and fifth
equivalents of duty in performing the function usually
attributed to duty of keeping men moral ; namely : —

4th. Equivalent of duty — the pleasure of risk and
struggle in action. Man finds pleasure in risk, in
danger, in struggle. And this pleasure is grounded in
man's " besoin de se sentir grand, d'avoir par instants
conscience de la sublimite de sa volonte. Cette con-
science 11 I'acquiert dans la lutte, lutte contre soi et
contre ses passions."

This equivalent for Duty, therefore, will maintain
morality even when men begin to ask for a reason why
they should be moral, for it will tend to lessen the force
of passion and to maintain self-control.

5th. Equivalent for duty in maintaining morality— le
risnue m^taphysique — I'hypothcse, " risk in thought."

This is man's tendency — (a) to form for himself an
ideal of action, an ideal which is purely h3'pothetical
and unreal, and {h) then in the sphere of action to pro-
duce this ideal, and to act as if it were his end, when,
as a matter of fact, we don't know that it is our end.
This risk which we tend to* run in producing an ideal
which may never be, tends to maintain the higher life.
" J-a vie de toutos p.irts est enveloppi^c d'inconnu.

ON DUTY 251

Pourtant j'agis, je travaille, j'entreprends ; et dans
toutes mes actes, dans toutes mes pensees, je presuppose
cet avenir sur lequel rien ne m'autorise a compter, je
depense mon energie sans craindre que cette depense
soit une perte seche. Je m'impose des privations en
comptant que I'avenir les rachetera, je vais mon chemin."

These five equivalents supply the place of duty. The
first three explain everything in what is called man's
moral nature — everything that is explained by duty.
The last two supply the place of duty in securing for
man control over the passions and in the maintaining
of a moral ideal.

Criticism — (a) Our first point of criticism is that if
the word " moral " has a definite meaning, then a
moral system without duty (Une Morale sans obliga-
tion) is an impossible conception. For a moral system,
if it means anything, means a system of laws binding
on human beings who yet are free to obey or not to
obey these laws. A system of laws which binds in any
other way than this, a system of laws which must be
obeyed, which cannot be resisted, is a physical not a
moral system. Hence the necessity that obtains in a
moral system must be a necessity of obligation, not of
physical compulsion.

[h) If the only necessity that moves to action is the
inner force of expansion belonging to all living things,
and if morals be only the necessity resulting from this
expansion, then the movements of plants and animals
are subject to the very same kind of necessity that
men are subject to, a conclusion, indeed, wliich M.
Guyau accepts, but which we believe the world at large
will not accept. For it is absurd to speak of the law
that impels the plant to grow as the same in kind which
impels a man to help the poor. The laws of plants are
unconscious necessities, those that we include under
" Duty " are conscious necessities. The laws of plants,
and likewise those of animals, are necessities to which
they are impelled independently of themselves — the law

252 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

which impels a man to help the poor is a necessity to
the fulfilment of which he determines himself.

(c) We have already shown that man is ordained by
nature to a definite end, and also that duty is the con-
sequent necessity laid on the will of taking the means
necessary to the attainment of this end. There is, then,
no necessity for imagining equivalents for duty. Duty
is itself a demonstrable fact and law, and admits of no
equivalent.

(d) We now go on to show that in no sense can we
admit these five equivalents of M. Guyau as substitutes
for duty.

(i) Life, its overflow and expansion, are not a sub-
stitute for duty. We admit a fundamental expansion
of the will to good. But this is irresistible, and it is
not duty but the basis of duty. For besides the physical
irresistible necessity which moves the will to desire good
we have proved the existence of another necessity which
physically is not irresistible, and it is for this moral
necessity that M. Guyau must supply a substitute if he
would provide equivalents for duty.

Besides the expansion of the will to good we admit
also the existence of other natural expansions — those,
namely, of the other appetites, sensuous and rational ;
but these are not an equivalent for duty, for they im-
pose no necessit}^ on the will, and, therefore, they are
not capable of giving rise to a moral necessity such as
depends on the rational appetite of will. But duty is
certainly a necessity of some kind laid on the will. Life
and its expansion, therefore, are not a substitute for
duty.

(;<j) The second supposed equivalent — that of the id(^e-
force — is also outside our conception of duty. The man
who stands upon a giddy height and feels inclined to
throw himself down, is moved to do so by an id6e-force.
But we do not regard such motor power as the same in
kind as what is spoken of as the necessity of duty. In
fact, it oppn:(':' duty, for a man is bound to avoid com-

ON DUTY 253

mitting suicide, however strong the idee force impclUng
him to it. Besides, it is absurd to claim that all ideas
are idees-forces. The idea " two " or " house " is not
an idee-force, because it has no tendency to produce
action.

(3) The third equivalent — the tendency of sensibility
to develop into altruism — is neither an equivalent of
duty nor an actual fact. Altruism, in so far as it is a
duty at all, is only one of our duties, and, therefore,
should not be described as an equivalent of duty.
Again, in sensibility as such there is no germ of altruism.
Intellect tends to be altruistic, as we shall see later in
our chapter on Utilitarianism, for intellect is able to
grasp the community of nature between one's self and
others. But sense as such is incapable of any such
conception, and it cannot develop into altruism. Crea-
tures of sense may, indeed, become possessed by nature
of certain special appetites or kind affections like that
of parental affection. But sense itself cannot become
altruistic.

(4) The fourth equivalent of Guyau falls very far
short of supplying the place of duty in the maintenance
of morality. No man has a natural tendency to struggle
n gainst passion except in so far as he conceives it to be
his duty to do so — that is, in so far as he sees that
passion unchecked is necessarily an evil, and, therefore,
to be avoided. It is sheer nonsense to speak of men in
general as resisting passion for the sake of the risk and
struggle of it, or even in order to appear to themselves
master of their appetites. The mere desire to master
oneself could not long maintain a high level of morality
in this world.

(5) The fifth equivalent — viz., that of the " Ideal "
which we form for ourselves, but which has no ex-
istence in reality — is no substitute for our sense of duty.
Were men persuaded that there was no law binding
them to be good, and no end which they were really
meant to attain, they would not have the same incentive

254 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to be good as that which comes of the sense of duty and
the firm conviction of an hereafter.

In conclusion we may remark that these five supposed
equivalents are not really equivalents or substitutes for
duty, because, whereas duty when understood is recog-
nised as imperative, the more a man understands these
equivalents the more he is likely to despise them and to
refuse to regulate his conduct according to them.

Appendix — Kant's Deduction of Liberty from
Moral Obligation

We saw in a previous chapter that liberty is a neces-
sary pre-condition of moral obligation. But, inasmuch
as a necessary pre-condition must always exist before
that to which it is a pre-condition can become real, it
follows that the will must be free before it could be
subject to moral obligation. Now, directly and funda-
mentally, this proposition that the will must be free
if it be subject to moral obligation coiicerns^ the
^tological order only, not the psychological order or
the order of our ideas. But an interesting question
arises concerning the relation of freedom and moral
obligation in the psychological order or the order of
knowledge — namely, could we, even though there were
no other proof of freedom, infer the freedom of the will
from the fact that it is subject to moral obligation ?
Our answer to this question will depend on the way in
which moral obligation is made known to our Reason.
If obligation were made known to us by intuition so
that we could see it with our intellects as we see colours
with our eyes, then, since freedom is a necessary pre-
requisite of obligation, we should be justified in making
the inference that since obligation is a reality freedom
also must be real. We might then adopt the simple
formula in which Kant epitomises his whole theory of
the relation of^eedom to moral obligalioh— " I ought,
'XJakrciore I can." On tlic other hand, if obligation be

ON DUTY 255

not known to us by intuition, if its existence must be
established by reasoning from premiss to conclusion,
and if, in addition, freedom be in any way contained
in the notion of obligation, then it would be illogical
to make the deduction that since the will is subject
to moral obligation, it must be free, just as it would be
illogical to make the inference that since the prisoner is
guilty he must be real, on the ground that no man could
be guilty except he were real.

Now, we proved in the present chapter against the
express teaching of Kant that moral obligation is not
known to us by introspection or by any kind of intui-
tion, and, therefore, we may conclude that the Kantian
formula which deduces the freedom of the will from
obligation — " I ought, therefore I can " — is founded on
a false psychological assumption, and that it cannot be
accepted as a genuine proof of freedom. As it would
be absurd to deduce the axioms of Euclid from the forty-
seventh proposition, they being pre-suppositions of it,
and contained in the very notion of its terms, so it would
be illogical to conclude the existence of freedom from
moral obligation. Freedom is a pre-supposition of
moral obligation, an intrinsic pre-supposition — that is,
it enters into the conception of obligation, and, therefore,
we must assume the freedom of the will before we can
establish obligation.*

♦ A theory approaching Kant's is that of the pragmatists that —
though freedom is not provable by speculative reason, it is yet neces-
sary, since without it there can be no morality, and morality is a need
of life (see Prof. James' "The Will to Believe "). On purely intel-
lectual grounds, Prof. James contends, freedom is not only unprovable,
but wholly unacceptable, to reason. But on moral grounds it is a
necessary postulate of the practical reason. " While I freely admit,"
he writes, " that the pluralism and restlessness are repugnant and
irrational in a certam way, I find that the alternative to them is
irrational in a deeper way. The indttenninism offends only the native
absolutism of my intellect — an absolutism which, after all, perhaps
deserves to be snubbed and kept in check. But determinism . . .
violates my sense of moral reality through and through."

CHAPTER IX
THE KANTIAN FORMALISM

" The Grecian-Roman philosophy was not a genuine moral system,
but only an egoistic Pseudo-Ethic ; the philosophy of the middle
ages was not an autonomous morality, but only a heteronomous
pseudo-morality." — Harimann (Pessimism).

We have, outlined in the above passage, the two sup-
posed defects of the ancient and mediaeval Ethic re-
spectively— viz., that in the ancient Grecian Ethic the
good was that which pleased and made one happy, and
that in the mediaeval Ethic the law of good was repre-
sented not as a law of our inner Reason, but either as
the law of the Supreme Being or as that of some other
authority external to and above us, such as church,
state, or master. To this twofold " error " modern
Ethics opposed the twofold theory of " Formalism,"
and the " Autonomy of the Reason." Let us here see
what is to be said on the theory of Formalism. We
shall in a later chapter * discuss the question of
Autonomy.

" Formalism " is the theory that no action is moral
which is done for pleasure or happiness or from any
other motive but that of duty or law.f We connect
this theory with Kant's name rather than with that of
any other Ethician because it seems to us that, perhaps,

* Chapter on Law.

t Besides the theory of pure formalism advocated by Kant there
are other partly formalistic theories that approach Kant's theory with
varying degrees of closeness. Almost identical with Kant's theory is
the well-known view of the Stoics in ancient times and of Whowcll in
modem times, that to be morally good an act should be done for the
sake of virtue, and that virtue is its own reward. Less purely formal
is the theory of Sidgwick, that though " duty for duty's sake " is
necessary as a general spring of action, it is not an indispensable
moral criterion for our individual acts. Less formal still is the view
of Shaftesbury, that though wc may use our selfish feelings for scUish
ends wc should use our benevolent feelings for benevolent ends.

256

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 257

with the single exception of Hutcheson, he is the only
" formalist " who works out the theory of the exclusion
of pleasure from moral action to its full logical con-
clusion. To be moral an act, according to Kant, should
be done for" the sake of law or duty, not for pleasure,
or happiness. Secondly, it must be done for the sake
of law as such and not for the sake of the content of
the law {i.e., because what it enacts is to our liking),
nor for the sake of the lawgiver. Thirdly, it must be
done out of respect for law, not for love of it. A moral
act then, according to Kant, is one which is done out
of respect for law or duty as such. Hutcheson says
practically the same thing when he claims that regard
even to the approbation of Conscience taints the virtue
of our act. In our criticism, we shall consider the first
of Kant's conditions only, for it is the principal condition,
viz., that, to be moral, an act should be done for duty
and not for pleasure.

Our examination of this theory will consist of two
parts : —

(a) Consideration of arguments against the theory of
formalism.

{b) Consideration of the principal arguments in its
favour.

(a) Disproof of the Theory of Formalism
(i) We first of air maintain that this very rigorous
demand upon our moral nature is not a thing that we
are prepared to accept without some rational proof.
For (a) it is not a principle that appeals all at once to
our acceptance ; and {b) the task that it imposes is a
very arduous one. {a) We have, for instance, been
accustomed to call the cheerful giver — i.e., the man who
gives because he loves the poor — the moral man par
excellence, and not the man who gives out of respect
for law.* Also [b] to exclude pleasure wholly as motive

*o()b' €(XTiv a7a^6j 6 /ttrj x^-^^" ^'I's AcaXats irpd^eSiv . . . ovt iXevd^pioy
t6i> /utj xa'Poi'T* ■'■"'S iXevdiplois irp<i.^£<nv (Nicb. Eth. 1., 8, 12).
Vol. I — 17

258 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of human action is to demand something which is
quite above human nature. This view of morals, there-
fore, is both starthng and rigorous. Whether the proofs
of this theory are rational or sufficient to force it upon
our acceptance in spite of its novelty and the difficulty
of its observance, we shall enquire later.
f (2) We contend that the idea of " duty for duty's
/ sake " is not necessarily implied in the scientific or
• . Y technical conception of a morally good act.
/\ ' \ jjjig y^iw \)Q evident from the conception of goodness
^^ as developed in the preceding pages. A morally good

^^ 1 act, we saw, is one which is directed by Reason to our
Ki^' I last end. Provided, then, that all the ends that we seek

in any particular act are such as lead us to our final end,
our act is morally good. The final end, then, is the
proper motive of a moral act, and any action may be
brought under that motive and be morally good if the
ends involved in it be such as really promote our final
end. We saw also that any act will promote our final
end which accords with the natural objects of our
faculties.

Hence duty or law is not a necessary motive of every
moral action.

(3) It is obvious that if such acts alone are morally
good as are done for the sake of duty, then only such
acts are good as are actually obligatory. Hence works
of supererogation could not possibly be morally good
from their very definition as supererogatory, since works
of supererogation are not our duty, and, therefore, they
could not be done out of the motive of duty. We
believe, however, that to exclude works of supereroga-
tion from the sphere of moral action would be to go
dead against the common sense of mankind. F"or
common sense affirms that he who is bound to give
five poimds to the poor, and yet gives two hundred
pounds, is morally a better man, ceteris paribus, than
he who barely fulfils his obligation.

It has been said, however, by some followers of Kant

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 259

that works of supererogation are at least allowed * by
law, and that a man who does an act because it is
allowed by law really does it for the sake of the law or
of duty, and that, consequently, works of supereroga-
tion can, even on the Kantian theory, be brought under
the motive of duty. We maintain, however, that mere
lawfulness is not a motive of action — that is, that we
could not possibly do an act merely because it was lawful,
that the man who thinks of the lawfulness of an act
may do it, indeed, with deference to law, but that he
does not do it on account of its lawfulness. Lawfulness,
or " allowability " \^ de se di mere negation, signifying
nothing more than that the law does not oppose a par-
ticular action, and no man could possibly act from
such a motive. A man cauld not, for instance, be
drawn to eat his dinner merely because it was lawful.
A man may eat for eating's sake or to please others,
but an end he must have, to act at all, and mere allow-
ability is not a sufficient end. Neither could a man give
money merely because it was lawful. He might give it
to relieve the poor, or because he had too much of it,
or for some ulterior motive or ambition, but he could
not give it from the sole idea that it is lawful. Mere
lawfulness, therefore, can never constitute the purpose
of, though it may constitute a condition of action. That
is, I may first ascertain that an act is lawful, and then
do it for some other reason. But I could not do it
simply because it was lawful.

Works, therefore, of supererogation must, on the
present theory, stand completely outside the category
of morality. They are not a duty, and hence could
not be done for duty's sake.

(4) On the theory of Formalism all moral acts must
be equally moral, since on this theory the sole ground of
the morality of an act is the motive which inspires it, and
there is on this theory only one possible moral motive — •

* Wc cannot veri'v this view, nor can we remember where we
have seen it stated

26o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

namely, the fulfilling of duty. He who pays a greater
sum because he has to pay it is no better on this theory
than the man who pays less, for all just do what they
have to do, and because they have to do it.

(5) On the Kantian theory there is no room for merit
with our fellowmen since no man merits with another
by the mere doing of what he is obliged to do. I do
not merit with other men by paying what I owe them,
because to pay what I owe is a strict duty, and no
thanks is due for its fulfilment.

(6) If to do an act because it subserves a useful pur-
pose will not make an action morally good, then to do
it because it is injurious will not render an action
morally bad. The converse is also true. If to do a
good act I must do it not merely with respect for, but
out of respect for, and on account of, law — i.e., if goodness
depends on my attitude of will to law, then to do an evil
action I must act not merely with disrespect but from
very disrespect of and hatred to law. This, we need
hardly say, is altogether at variance with our moral
conceptions generally, and the consequence of it must
be to render the whole moral law and system nugatory.
For no criminal acts for the simple purpose of violating
a law, but rather to please or to enrich himself in spite
of law, and such a will would not on this theory be
morally bad. This argument, too, tells equally well
against Shaftesbury's as against the Kantian formula.
If, in order that the human will be good, it must desire
a virtuous act because it is virtuous, or for the sake of
virtue, then in order that a man be morally bad, one
must desire evil for the sake of vice, and because it is
malicious. On such a theory there is no act that might
not be morally condoned, since any act, however evil,
may be done for the pleasure which it affords, or for its
usefulness, or for some other end besides mere vicious-
ness, whereas if Formalism be true only such acts are
bad as are done out of Ihc very motive of viciousnoaa.
Nay, since no man could desire an evil action merely

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 261

because of the evil of it, there could be, on this theory,
no such thing as moral evil in the world, even though
there might be moral good. This, again, is a view of
morals to which the world in general will not readily
subscribe.

(7) We have seen already that the exclusion of happi-
ness from the motives of human action is quite as
hopeless a task as the exclusion of object. The will,
we have already seen, must desire happiness and cannot
help desiring it. This cardinal principle of the Aris-
totelian philosophy as admitted in the most formal and
explicit way by Kant himself. " There is one end,"
he writes,* " however, which may be assumed to be
actually such to all rational beings .... and therefore
one purpose which they not merely may have, but
which we may with certainty assume that they all
actually have bj^ a natural necessity, and this is happi-
ness." Again, t " To be happy is necessarily the wish
of every finite creature, and this therefore is inevitably
a determining principle of its faculty of desire." The
conclusion is obvious : if, in order that an act be moral
it is necessary to eliminate momentarily from our minds
the desire for happiness, then moral acts are clearly
impossible, for so has nature constituted us that the
desire for happiness cannot be eliminated. It is a neces-
sary element in every act of will.

The objection here urged against the Kantian principle
is of very great importance, and it finds frequent men-
tion in Kant's writings. In justice to Kant we feel
bound to indicate the chief ways in which he attempts
to solve it.

rant's solutions

(a) Kant admits that the necessity of the desire for
happiness renders it very difficult to elicit a purely moral
act. But the difficulty of eliciting such an act does not. he

* Metaphysic of Morals (Abbot), page 32.

I " Analytic of Pure Prac. Reason," page 112

262 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS '

says, alter our definition of it, nor relieve us of the necessity
of performing it, just as " friendship would still be a com-
mand of Reason, even though there might never have been
a true friend." *

Reply — We are not concerned here with definitions but
with the question whether we ought to do moral acts in
Kant's sense. Our reply is that we ought not because we
cannot. It is a psj^chological impossibility. Acts of friend-
ship, with which Kant compares morality, no matter how
difficult, are sometimes possible. If they were not possible
there could be no law of Reason enjoining them.

ip) Kant's second solution is as follows : The psycho-
logical necessity we are under of desiring happiness and the
moral necessity or law which urges us to exclude happiness
from the motives of acts do not stand opposed, since the two
necessities dwell in different sides or departments (if we may
use the term) of our Being. The first belongs to us as pheno-
mena, or sense beings — the second belongs to us as " in-
telligible," as noumena. Hence the psychological necessity
referred to of desiring happiness does not negative the com-
mand of Reason to elicit purely moral acts f and to exclude
the desire for happiness.

Reply — Even if we grant the reality of the distinction
between noumenon and phenomenon it is still evident that
since it is psychologically impossible to eliminate the desire
for happiness, therefore, the command of Reason to exclude
it, if such a command exists, is a vain and meaningless com-
mand. For, from what side or department of our nature is
this desire to be excluded ? It cannot be excluded from the
noumenal side since, on Kant's theory, it does not dwell
there. On the other hand, it cannot be excluded from the
phenomenal side, because it is there by a necessity of nature,
and, therefore, the command to exclude it would be of no
avail. The law, therefore, to exclude happiness is a vain
and meaningless law and cannot be sustained. Besides,
there is the practical difficulty how we are to allow the desire
for happiness to dwell in the phenomenal side whilst ex-
cluding it from the noumenal.

(c) A third attempted solution is found in the Dialectic
of Practical Reason. J The psychological necessity to desire
happiness and the command of Reason to exclude it refer

* Metaphysic of Morals, page 24
I ibid, page 72.
; ibid, pagr 204.

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 263

to two ditferent objects, and, therefore, they are not opposed.
For, the psychological necessity relates to happiness as end
of action, i.e., we must desire and cannot help desiring
happiness as end ; whereas the moral necessity or the com-
mand of Reason to exclude this motive from action relates
to happiness as principle of action, i.e. we must not make
happiness the principle of our act. Hence, when it is said
that a man should act from duty, this means that he should
make duty the principle of his act, but his act may still
be directed towards happiness as end.

Reply — The distinction drawn by Kant between end (or
what he sometimes calls spring) and principle of action is
wholly imaginary.* In relation to our wills, the spring or
end of action and the principle are one and the same. The
only principle of will-activity, the only thing that determines
the will to act is the end which it desires, the end which
Reason puts before it as desirable. We may, of course,
distinguish between proximate and remote or ulterior ends of
action. Thus if we give money to a poor man in order to
gain glory for ourselves we desire proximately to reheve
the poor man, but remotely, and, we may say, principally,
we desire renown for ourselves. But everything that we
desire, or which moves us to action, is desired and moves
us as an end, as a thing to be attained. Hence our difficulty
remains — it is as happiness-producing that motives, whether
the motive be duty or sympathy or anything else, determine
us ; and, consequently, a command of Reason to exclude the
desire for happiness and to act from the motive of duty only
would be a meaningless command. Again, even though the
distinction of end and principle could be made good in theory,
it would be impossible to observe it in practice. No man
could make happiness or anything else the chief end of his
action and prevent it from becoming the principle of his
act. Hence the injunction to exclude happiness as principle
whilst admitting it as end is impracticable.

{d) Finally, an attempt is made to harmonise the two

♦ One point of distinction, according to Kant, between end and
principle is that ' end ' is an object of love, ' principle ' of respect ;
and he gives as the distinguishing mark of respect as opposed to love,
that respect involves " an inward reluctance of the will towards
law." From this it would seem to follow that acting out of respect
for law, to the exclusion of love, is the same thing as actmg out of
reluctance to law — a curious motive, indeed, for moral action, and,
to our thinking, also an impossible motive psychologically. Schiller's
witty description of the moral man in Kant's theory is well known —
" he who despises ♦he law and with horror fulfils it."

264 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

necessities in the various devices by which Kant attempts
to find room for happiness in the moral act whilst excluding
it as the end aimed at. Thus it is admitted that happiness
is often a means to virtue and may be sought as means,*
that it can be experienced as a result of the purely moral
act which therefore excludes its being made the motive of
our act (in which case it is spoken of as moral happiness,
not pathological f), and finally we are told that morality,
although excluding happiness as motive, does not exclude
" worthiness to be happy " and in this way happiness can
be admitted into the moral act.|

But none of these answers are really relevant to the problem
we have raised, how, viz., a moral act is possible, since, as
Kant himself admits, happiness is desired in every human
act. What is necessarily desired in every human act is a
necessary end of action.

(8) According to Kant the only moral principle of
action is law or respect for law ; law in the case being
a command of Reason. His proofs we shall examine
later on, but at present we wish it to be understood that
the law of Reason is a command. Command, however,
is, according to Kant, a genuine moral principle, not
on account of the legislator who issues it, and not on
account of the matter of the command, but simply as
command, as law, as legislation. For we must do the
act, he tells us, not out of respect for the lawgiver or
on account of what the law ordains, but out of respect
for law as such. But in law, when we abstract from
" lawgiver," and from the matter of the laws, there is
nothing left but the act or command of the legislator —
that is, there is nothing left but legislation itself. Legis-
lation or command, therefore, as principle of action is,
on the present theory, the primary source of the morality
of our action. But how, we ask, can legislation as such
be a determinant of morality ? Is not legislation itself
subject to moral criticism ? May not legislation be
good or bad ? May not the commands even of any

• " Analytic," page 187
t " Dialectic," page 213
i ibid, page 227,

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 265

rightful legislator be bad, and how, then, can legislation
be the ultimate source of moral good. This or that
command coming from this or that legislator may be
good ; but legislation as such is not necessarily good.
It cannot, therefore, be the chief principle of moral
action.

It may be answered that legislation which is bad is
really not legislation at all, and that, consequently, law
or legislation, in the true sense of the word, is neces-
sarily a good motive. We reply — bad legislation is not
legislation at all, just in so far as it cannot bind us in
conscience — that is, just in so far as its matter is bad,
but it is legislation in the sense that it is the command
of an authoritative and rightful legislator, and in this
sense it is, according to Kant, the rightful principle of
action. But, we repeat, as command it may be either
good or bad. Legislation, then, as such, in sense of
command as such, is not the ultimate principle of
morality.

(q) Law itself should be subordinated to the end which
it is naturally intended to promote — viz., the common
good. The end of law ip the advancement of the
common good, and, therefore, to make moral good
consist in acting out of respect for law, and not in
acting from the motive of the good which the law is
originally meant to secure, is to invert the natural
order of things — to make the means principal, and such
a proceeding would, if the illustration will be allowed,
be about as absurd as to say that a dancer ought to aim
at acting out of respect to the word of his master rather
than with a view to executing a graceful movement.*

• We may here be allowed to notice an argument which has been
made much of by many of Kant's opponents, but which to our mind
involves a mis-statement of the Kantian theory, and therefore cannot
be regarded as a logical answer to it. The argument rests on wliat is
known as the paradox of Stoicism, and we give it prominence here
simply because of its historical importance. Briefly put, this argu-
ment is as follows : " Before you can have regard to the virtue of
an act, the act itself must be virtuous " (Hume, " Enquiry," page 479).
Again, Green writes : "No act can be virtuous or morally good unless

266 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(b) Arguments of the Formalists

We shall now examine the principal arguments of the
formaUsts. It is not, indeed, easy to get Kant's argu-
ments together, or to put them succinctly, since he
himself seems to have written them just as they occurred
to him without order and often with much seeming in-
consistency. The following two arguments, however,
must be considered : —

First. Formalism, or " duty for duty's sake," is the
creed of the crowd. It is the common or the vulgar
idea of morality, the idea which receives " the thorough
assent of even common reason."

Secondly. The ground or principle of morality must,
according to the testimony of our conscience, possess
two distinctive attributes — ^first, it must be of categorical
value, of value in itself and not merely as means to some-
thing else,* secondly, it must be of value for all men.f
Now (a) external objects are not such a good, because
they are desirable and desired only as a means to pleasure.
Hence the moral good must lie within us, it must not be
external. (6) But it cannot consist in inner pleasure,
because pleasure is only a feeling of sense and therefore

there be in human nature some motive to produce it, distinct from the
sense of its morality." The argument is this — the doing of an act for
the sake of virtue cannot itself be the principle on which the moral
virtuousness of an act depends, since it already supposes the act to
be virtuous. The Kantian position is, therefore, a usieron proteron
and a paradox.

But this really is not an answer to Kant. Kant and Whewell both
grant that before we can desire a virtuous act on account of its virtue
the act must first be materially good. But they claim that if, over
and above the materially good act, you are also to have a formally
good act or a virtuous or moral will, then the will must wish the act
in question simply because it is virtuous or good, and for no other
reason. There is here no paradox and no usieron proteron. The
formally virtuous will and the materially good object or end are two
distinct things. The fomially good act presupposes an act materially
good, but it docs not prcsupjK).sc formal goodness, and, therefore, it
il no paradox to assert that in order that an act should bo formally
good or virtuous we should do it on account of the virtuousness or
goodness that it contains considercd materially.

* " Fund. Princ. of Met. of Morals," pages 58-59, and 63.

t Ibtd. pages 25 and 44 ; also " An. of Prac. Reason," page ii2

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 267

like all feeling it differs with different men. The moral
principle therefore must consist in something within us
but above the senses, in some motivating power of the
Will or Practical Reason. But the only motivating
power of the Practical Reason is law or command, and
therefore this is the principle of morality, and it is both
categorical in worth, and valid for all men. We must
therefore act for the sake of law.*

Let us examine these arguments separately, (i)
Formalism has the thorough assent of even the common
Reason. This is the main ground of Formalism — the
ground which at one time secured to Kant's doctrine a
more or less general acceptance. As proof that pleasure
or utility or effects of any kind are not a true motive
of morality Kant writes : " A good will is good not
because of what it performs or effects, not by its aptness
for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply
by virtue of the volition — that is, it is good in itself ;
and considered by itself is to be esteemed much higher
than all that can be brought about by it in favour of
any inclination, nay, even of the sum total of inclina-
tions." This, Kant maintains, is the common and the
vulgar conception of morals. Let us see whether this
is true. We have ourselves italicised the words " that
is " in the quotation, for it is to the transition which
Kant attempts to effect at this point that we wish to
draw the reader's attention. We grant most willingly
that the " common reason " will regard that will as
good which has wished well and morally, independently
altogether of its being able to reduce its volition to
reality, and independently also of that which it actually
" effects." He, for instance, who would wish to come
to the aid of the distressed but cannot do so is quite as
moral as he who actually aids them. And, on the other
hand, he who has the will to do good, but really does

* The most connected and condensed statement of the argument
given above is to Ix; found in " An. of I^ire Prac. Reason," pages 107-
108 (Abbot's revised fourth edition).

268 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

evil, either by accident or by mistake, is morally quite
as good as he who does the good in fact. In that sense,
indeed, " a good will is good, not by virtue of what it
effects, but simply by virtue of the volition." But in
admitting this we have admitted no more than that it
is the internal act of the will which is good primarily
and essentially, and that external actions are morally
good only in so far as they are connected with the inner
intention or motive, and make with it a complete human
act. So far we are quite at one with Kant. The will
is good (and, we may also add, is bad) independently
" of what it performs or effects," independently also of
its " aptness for the attainment of some proposed end "
— its aptness namely, actually to do that which it desires
to do ; and independent^ finally " of what can he brought
about {i.e., effected in favour of or in correspondence
with) its inclinations or even the sum total of its inclina-
tions." All this is true. But Kant had no right to
argue on the ground of these commonplace propositions
that the will is therefore good in itself, independently of
its wish, or of what it wishes, or of its inclination, or of
the sum total of its inclinations. The world, according
to Kant, does not judge a man good or bad by what he
effects outwardly, and that is quite true. But the world
certainly judges a man to be good or bad according to
his inner wishes and desires and by what he desires. A
man is not necessarily either good or bad who never
robs. But we call him bad if we know that he harbours
the desire to rob. We do not call a man good or bad
who has never killed another. But we call him bad if
it was his intention to do so. We neither call a man
selfish nor benevolent who does not give money, since
he may have none to give. But wc call him .selfush if
he does not desire to give it, and benevolent if he would
give it were it in his power to do so. The world, there-
fore, judges of the morality of our acts by the ends that
we desire. It does not account the will good " in itself "
apart from its ends and desires.

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 269

In the common Reason, therefore, there is nothing
that makes for Formalism, according to which a man
would not be accounted good who desired only good
ends. On the contrary, the common Reason is dead
against it, since the common Reason judges of morality
according to the objects of our desires.

Again, in treating of benevolence, we are told by
Kant that no act of benevolence can be accounted moral
unless " all sympathy be extinguished with the lot of
others." While still maintaining the power to help, we
must, he tells us, if our act is to be moral " be not
troubled by their trouble," but be insensible to it, he
being alone moral who succeeds in helping them,
" having torn himself out of this dead insensibility to
perform an action without any inclination to it but
simply from duty." * He should, indeed, if he would
be consistent with his own principle, have said instead
■ — " When, having failed to tear himself out of this
dead insensibility, and, therefore, whilst still insensible
to their misery, he nevertheless performs an action
without any inclination to it, but simply from duty."
This view of morality is not, we submit, the view taken
of it by men at large, it is not the " vulgar morality "
or what " the common Reason believes."

Indeed, the more we examine into the matter the
more we shall be convinced that the settled conviction
of the world is not Formalism — on the contrary, that
Formalism offends against our commonest moral sensi-
bilities. The plain man's view of morality may be
contrasted with Formalism as follows : According to
Formalism morality belongs to our wills independently
of objects or ends, and our wills are moral when the
act springs from the motive of law or duty. The plain
man's view is (a) that it is, indeed, the good will to do,
and not the deed, which is the principal determinant
of moral worth ; but (6) that the will is morally good
when all its ends, proximate and remote, are good, and,
therefore, that goodness and badness in the human will
* Abbot, vage 14.

270 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

are determined by the objects which we desire ; (c) that
a bad end vitiates everything ; (d) that a purely selfish
end, though it does not vitiate action, may still rob it
of its benevolent character and will rob it, as a conse-
quence, of merit ; [e) that the desire for happiness in
every human breast vitiates no action, that pleasure is
good or bad according to the object in which we find it ;
(/) that duty itself is just one of those ends or objects
in which a man may place his happiness ; (g) that duty
is not the only moral end or motive, that, in every act,
as there is a positive love of happiness, so there must
be also just such a love of duty as keeps us from
violating duty, but that duty is not the only moral
end or moral principle. These are simple conceptions,
and they are easily put into practice. Under the law
of Formalism, on the contrary, the world must simply
come to a standstill, since men could not act in every
case out of the pure respect for law. For happiness is
an ordinary spring of human action, and it is a spring
only in so far as it is a motive of action.

(2) In his second proof Kant claims that the true
moral motive must be of categorical value or of worth
in itself and not as means merely ; also, that it should
be of universal value, i.e., of value for all men. We
shall allow these two conditions of the true moral motive
to stand. Let us see to what conclusion they will lead
us. He contends that objects outside us cannot be the
supreme motive, i.e., that the act is not moral if done
for their sake, because objfects outside of us are willed
and are of value only as a means to pleasure. On the
other hand, pleasure or happiness cannot be the moral
motive because though of value and desired in itself,
and not as a mere means to something else, it yet is not
of value for all men, since what gives pleasure to one
man will not give it to another. Now the conclusion
that forces itself on us is quite the opposite of this.
There are, as we shall see in our chapter on Hedonism,
objects which are not desired as a mere means to

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 271

pleasure, and there is one object which though most
desirable could never be desired as a means to anything
else, viz., the final objective end ; it is also of value
to all men. Hence if Kant's two conditions are true,
the final objective end is the true supreme moral motive.
Again, happiness is desired by all men, and there is one
happiness that all men must desire, viz., the subjective
final end, or the possession of the infinite good. As we
have shown, this final happiness cannot be wished as a
mere means. Hence, granted Kant's two conditions, we
are led to the conclusion that an act should be morally
good if it leads to, and is desired as leading to, the final
end objective and subjective, which is the view of morals
which we have expressed from the beginning of this
work.

On the other hand, if the Kantian conditions hold
true then the law of Reason cannot be the supreme moral
motive. It is wanting at least in the first of the required
qualifications. The laws of human Reason are all mere
means ; they are means to the securing of happiness or
welfare. They are, therefore, not of value in and for
themselve.

Granted, therefore, the Kantian conditions, we find
that they themselves exclude what is to him the only
true moral motive, viz., the law of the human Reason.

NOTE ON KANT S ARGUMENT

It has been sometimes claimed that Kant attempted to
establish his principle (that we ought to do duty for duty's
sake) in a third way — namely, through the concept of free-
dom— his argument, it is said, being that, since the will is
free and since freedom excludes all motivation of the will
from sense, and therefore excludes all motivation by pleasure,
the moral motive must be that of duty. But this is not a
true statement of the Kantian position. His position on the
point is, it seems to us, after a full examination of it, as
follows : He does not first establish the freedom of the
will and from that deduce Formalism as a conclusion, but he
first postulates morality in the sense of duty for duty's sake.

272 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

as something given, something we know through intuition, and
then he postulates freedom as a necessary condition of that.
And so he avoids what he himself tells us * looks like a
vicious circle " from which we find it (at first sight) im-
possible to escape," the apparent circle being that " in the
order of efficient causes we assume ourselves free in order,
that in the order of ends we may conceive ourselves as subject
to moral laws, and then conceive ourselves as subjected to
these laws, because we have attributed to ourselves freedom
of the will." We must admit that Kant successfully avoids
this circle, for his argument is that we start out from the
obligation to do our duty for duty's sake as something
revealed in our inner consciousness, and then having postu-
lated freedom in the noumenal world as a necessary condition
of such obligation, Kant simply returns to see how through
noumenal freedom that same moral obligation which was
previously given us as real and existent in our consciousness
is possible. In this there is no vicious circle.

OTHER ARGUMENTS FOR FORMALISM

In Hartmann and Whewell f we find two distinct
arguments for the present theory. According to Hart-
mann there is in man an innate respect for law, and an
innate impulse to fulfil the law apart altogether from
the consideration of pleasurable ends, so that it would
seem natural and right that this instinctive respect
should be made supreme in every human action.

Reply — ^We do not admit that nature has supplied
mankind with an innate respect for anything, but we

* Abbot, page 69.

t Hegel's argument for Stoicism runs (page 127, " Phil, of Right ").
" Since the good is the essence of the will of the particular subject it
is his obligation. As the good is distinct from particularity, and par-
ticularity occurs in the subjective will, the good has at the outset
only the character of universal abstract essence. This abstract
universal is duty. Hence, duty as is required by its character must
be done for duty's sake."

Fichte's argument is briefly the following : There is in man a
natural impulse to perfect independence of himself. Hence, the im-
pul.sc of the ego is towards self-determination, towards independence
of external ends, ends that 1 do not give myself, but wliich are given
me. In its formal and full jxirfi-ction, howcvfr, this independence
to which the soul is impelled is the complete realisation of duty for
duty's sake. As Fichtc puts it, the ego must pursue freedom (from
objects) simply because it is ego.

THE KANTIAN FORMALISM 273

do admit that we have an innate love of the good, in
the sense that the will cannot help wishing the good.
But let us suppose that we are endowed by nature with
this innate respect for law of which Hartmann speaks,
and even with an innate impulse to fulfil the law apart
from the consideration of ends — what follows ? It
follows merely that we are bound in all things first
and before all to observe the law, and to do nothing
in contravention of it, to do all according to law. It
does not follow that we should do all for the sake of
law.

Whewell's argument is the following : " Moral
goodness is that quality of an act which puts it in con-
formity with the supreme rule of virtue, which belongs,
therefore, to man as man — that is, to the whole man ;
and which must have, therefore, for its principle the
supreme rule itself — that is, be done out of the love of
virtue."

Reply — Again our answer is that we cannot from the
fact that moral virtue belongs to man as man deduce
the conclusion that, therefore, we must do all things for
the sake of virtue, but only that all that we do ought
to be virtuous — i.e., that what we do ought to accord
with virtue. One might as well say that because
eating belongs to us as animal we should on that ac-
count always eat in order to satisfy our animal nature.
We may eat for any purpose we like, provided we do
not injure our animal nature.

We believe that we have now adduced all the proofs

worth noting in defence of the Kantian theory of

Formalism. In general this theory of duty for duty's

sake is not defended by argument, but is assumed as

a postulate, which does not need to be proved, since it

represents the noblest and purest of all moral systems.

But we have shown that Formalism is anything but a

pure system either in itself or in its consequences, since

to do a thing for the sake of law is to do a thing for the
Vol. I— 18

274 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sake of that which may be either bad or good. Kant's
view has often been extolled as a noble and a generous
theory because of its exclusion of the selfish element
from human action. But the " self " is necessary in
every act. For the " self" is the principle of the human
act, and action is possible to us only on the condition of
its bringing us happiness. Selfishness in this sense we
can never exclude from human action.

To sum up this long and complex argument, we reject
the present theory — the theory, namely, that an act
to be morally good should be done for the sake of duty,
first, because of the arguments adducible in disproof of
it — it demands too much of human nature, it is not
contained in the idea of the moral good, it does not
allow for the morality of works of supererogation, it
reduces all individual acts to a dead level of morality,
it excludes merit with our fellow-men, it makes moral
evil impossible, it conflicts with the natural desire of
the will for happiness, it takes no account of the possi-
bility of bad legislation. Secondly, we reject it because
the arguments used in support of it are fallacious.
Formalism is not the creed of the crowd. On the con-
trary, it violates our commonest moral susceptibilities.
Also it is built on the false assumptions that all objects
are a means to pleasure, and that there is no common
law of happiness for different men, no object which
will ^ive happiness to aU.

CHAPTER X

ON HEDONISM

" Hedonism " is the theory that pleasure * is the final
end of man. Recent writers on Ethics distinguish two
systems of Hedonism — that of egoistic and that of
universalistic Hedonism. The first is the doctrine that
the end of each man is his own personal pleasure. The
second is that the end of the individual is the pleasure
of the whole race. But many Ethical writers use the
word " Hedonism " to signify the first theory only,
and Utilitarimism to signify the second. It is in its
purely egoistic sense that we shall use the term Hedon-
ism in this chapter. The theory, therefore, which we
are now about to examine is the theory that the end of
each man is his own pleasure, and that every act is good
which promotes that pleasure. In the next chapter we
shall discuss Utilitarianism.

There are many forms of the Hedonistic theory, for
" pleasure " has many meanings. It may range in its
varieties of signification from the gratification of man's
merely animal instincts to the happiness which the soul .
enjoys in contemplating its Creator. We might thus
form an ascending scale of theories of Hedonism, each
degree being further removed than its predecessor from

• On page 53 we distinguished between objective end or the thing
which is desired, subjective end or happiness (f{ daifj.ov(a) , i.e., the
attaining, and in some cases retaining, of the end desired or the satis-
faction of, desire, and, thirdly, pleasure (t}5o«'^) or the glow of feeling
which in some, and only some, cases accompanies the attainment of
th'e end desired. Hedonism, as our definition given above shows, is
the theory that pleasure in this sense is the final end of man. Most
Hedonists however, draw no very clear distinction between attaining
an end and the pleasurable feeling accompanying or following from
that act. Often, too, they speak of this feeling as happiness.

27s

276 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

material self-indulgence, and nearer to the highest and
most purely intellectual pleasure of which a rational
creature is capable. A few examples will suggest how
such a scale might be constructed.*

(i) There is the crude Hedonism of Hobbes' " State
of Nature," as described by him in the Leviathan.
" Whatsoever," f he says, " is the object of any man's
desire that is it which he for his part calleth good." In
the State of Nature, therefore, every end was good.
And in this State of Nature not only was such object
called good, but it was really good, and there was no
other good. There could be no cruder form of Hedon-
ism than this. It recognised no controlling law what-
soever in pleasure or desire.

(2) The Hedonism of Aristippus (leader of the
Cyrenaic School of Philosophy in the ancient Greek
world) at least recognised some law of preference in
pleasure. It denied that purely bodily pleasure was
man's end, and gave the preference to mental pleasure.
But Aristippus insisted that pleasure is the end of man.
This is a higher type of theory than Hobbes', but it does
not make a qualitative distinction between pleasures as
our next example (Mill) does, for Aristippus held that
the difference between bodily and mental pleasure was
one of quantity only.

(3) Mill goes farther than Hobbes or Aristippus, since
he asserts a qualitative distinction between pleasures as

♦ Egoistic theories have not grown more refined with time. Per-
haps the most offensive of all Egoistic theories was that put forward
as late as 1844 by Max Stimcr in his work " Der Einzige und scin
Eigenthum " — a work in which the individual is regarded as not only
the end of his own action but as the only thing in the world. To the
individual, according to Stimcr, the world is only a dream — it exists
for him alone. It is his property. He has no duties towards it.

I In Aristotle's theory also, " good " is the " object of appetite."
But Aristotle recognises a hierarchy of appetites and of ends, and,
just as in the case of any particular project we regard a means as
gctod only in so far as it leads us to our end, and count any course,
nowever pleasurable in itself, a wrong and evil means which leads
us from our end, so, also, though the good is the object of appetite,
wc count any object, however p!ea.surable, as bad if it leads us from
our final end.

ON HEDONISM 277

man's end — an ethically preferential scale of pleasures,
the higher pleasure counting more than a lower of even
greater strength and duration. Such a S5^stem is more
refined necessarily than one that recognises as the
criterion of the good mere strength and duration, &c.,
in pleasure,

(4) A still higher form of Hedonism is that adopted
by those philosophers who claim special consideration
for a special high kind of pleasure, a pleasure which it
is asserted outweighs all other kinds — the pleasure of a
good conscience.

(5) A higher form still is that which Butler advocates
— the Hedonism which includes in its calculus of
pleasures those which we are to receive in heaven as' a
reward of good action. His theory has been called a
theory of " long-sighted selfishness."

An attempt to make an exhaustive classification of
Ethicians according to the scheme which we have drawn
up here will present many difficulties. For instance,
some of the most famous Ethical theories are not
worked out consistently by their authors, and at some
points will appear to belong to one grade, at some
points to another grade. Thus, Spinoza starts with
Hedonism pure and simple, and ends as a Stoic, for,
according to Spinoza, though pleasure is the end, our
pleasure must be to realise the soul — i.e., to desire virtue
for virtue's sake. Butler is a hedonist, and yet he tells
us that if we seek pleasure it will fly from us. But the
scheme will be useful as showing the variety of views
included under Hedonism.

It may be well to give the reader, at tliis point, a brief
historical account of some views of hedonists. A fuller
knowledge of the views of hedonists can be got by the
student in Sidgwick s little " History of Ethics," from which
we have taken nearly all the contents of this note.

(i) The SocRATic Schools. — {a) Aristippus taught that
virtue is the pleasure-producing. There are no qualitative
differences in pleasures. Yet mental pleasures are better
than bodily— because intenser. (6) Antisthenes taught that

278 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

{Measure is evil. Virtue is spiritual independence of body or
of pleasure.

(2) Plato. — In the Protagoras he insists that pleasure is
the good. In the Phcedo he goes to the opposite extreme,
saying — it cannot be good, since all pleasure has pain mixed
with it. In the Republic and the Laws he takes a middle
view, maintaining that pleasure is not the " good,' but that
pleasure and the good harmonise. The best, he tells us, is
also the " pleasantest."

(3) Aristotle. — Pleasure is an accident, but an inseparable
accident, of all natural weU-being, but it is not the end. The
end is function.

(4) Stoics. — Pleasure is not the end, because it is only a
result of a natural impulse to an end. To the wise man
pleasure is not even a good. But though positive pleasure
is not a good worth striving for, negative pleasure — i.e.,
the serenity of virtue — is worth striving for.

(5) Epicureans. — The pleasure of the individual is the
only good. Body is the source of all pleasure. But mental
pleasures though not specifically distinct from bodily are
greater than any others, because mind, besides present
pleasures, has also the pleasures of memory and of antici-
pation. The pleasure of our whole life is our end.

(6) HoBBES. — The theoretical ends of action are pleasure
and self-preservation. The practical rule of action for the
gaining of these ends is the sovereign's will.

(7) CuDWORTH. — True happiness is the " pleasure which
the soul derives from the sense of virtue."

(8) Cumberland was the first to substitute for the
individual the common good (consisting of happiness and
perfection) as end of all. From his time Hedonism in Eng-
land was more Universalistic than Egoistic.

(9) Locke. — Our own pleasure is the end, but as subject
to law.

(10) Shaftesbury was the first philosopher to build an
Ethics on the distinction of two impulses in man — one of
self-love, the other of benevolence. The " good " is their
harmony. He could only be called a hedonist in so far as
he claimed an equal prominence for the selfish and benevolent
impulses.

(11) Butler. — There are two regulative principles in man
— self-love and conscience. If they conflict, conscience must
jdeld. Yet self-love is not so reliable as conscience, and on
that score conscience may sometimes not yield to self-love.

(12) HUTCHESON. — A purely self-regarding act is never

ON HEDONISM 279

morally good. It is at best indifferent. Yet private happi-
ness and benevolence must harmonise. To this extent he is
a hedonist. Unlike Shaftesbury, he denies that there is in
the purely benevolent impulses any touch of self-love.

(13) Hume, in his later works, admits that there are purely
disinterested impulses in men, but denies that they can be-
come active except through self-love. Moral consciousness
is only pleasurable emotion.

(14) Reio. — There are two regulative principles in man —
self-love and conscience. Self-love can never be subordinate
to conscience. Yet if they conflict we are in the dilemma
whether it is better to be a fool or a knave.

Other writers often mentioned in connection with Hedonism
— v.g., Paley, Bentham, Mill — are Utilitarians, not Hedonists.
Their Utilitarianism, however, is built on Hedonism.

Besides the differences of hedonists on the nature of
the pleasure that constitutes our end, there are other
differences amongst them, one of which differences will
be prominent in this present chapter, when we come to
make a formal criticism of Hedonism. It has been held
by some (Psychological hedonists) that pleasure is the
only end which man is capable of desiring ; by others
(Ethical hedonists) that pleasure is the only end which
man ought to desire, although it is possible for him to
desire other things.

We propose in this section to prove that pleasure is
not even that which ought to be the sole end, and from
this it will follow manifestly that pleasure is not man's
only possible end.

Our proof that pleasure is not the only end which we
" ought " to desire will consist in showing that pleasure
is not our sole natural end. If we have other natural
ends beside pleasure it is impossible that pleasure is the
only end which ought to be sought.

{a) Pleasure — Not the Sole Natural End of

Desire

This proposition directly contradicts the fundamental
assumption of all forms of Hedonism. A remarkable

28o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

defence of this proposition — one of the subtlest passages
in Scholastic Philosophy — is to be found in " Summa
Contra Gentiles " (Book III., Chap. 26). The defence
forms part of the series of arguments by which St.
Thomas Aquinas proves the thesis that the attainment
of happiness (and by happiness he means the attainment
of our final natural end) consists in an act of intellect,
not of will. Now, since pleasure resides in the will,
and is the principal act of will, some of the arguments
by which St. Thomas establishes his thesis consist in
proving that the final natural end of man is not pleasure.
It is these latter" arguments that we shall here reproduce,
and we shall take them in the following order : —

(i) Argument derived from the fact that the will's
object or end is prior to the will's pleasure.

(2) Argument derived from the fact that the will's
object or end is a thing distinct from the " rest " or
quiescence that follows on the attainment of the
object.

(3) Argument derived from the distinction between
true and false pleasure.

(4) Argument derived from the equal or indifferent
Ethical value of the means employed if pleasure were
the final end.

(5) Argument from analogy of Nature's general use
of pleasure as a means only.

ST. THOMAS AQUINAS' ARGUMENTS

I. Argument derived from the fact that the will's
object or end is prior to the will's pleasure. ■ x-j. j. i 10,^2 ^ )

In this argument St. Thomas proves that not only is
pleasure not our sole natural end, but that it cannot be
our primary end. »

Every power that is moved to its act by objects is
subject to the law that object precedes act as mover pre-
cedes movement, not necessarily in the order of time,
but psychologically in the order of willing. To make

ON HEDONISM 281

our meaning plain we shall give some examples. The
object of vision precedes the act of vision, not in time
necessarily, but in the meaning given above — that is,
we see the object before we know that we see it. Simi-
larly we know the object of intellect before we under-
stand the act of intellect.* Now, the will, like vision
and intellect, is moved to its act by objects. There-
fore, the object of will precedes the act of the will, in
the sense that the will must desire the object before it
can desire its own act in which pleasure is contained.
But the primary object of will is also its last end, since
the primary object is sought for its own sake, which is
our very definition of the final end.f

Therefore, far from pleasure being our sole natural
end, we have shown that an object distinct from pleasure
must be desired before the desire for pleasure becomes
possible, and this object is a natural object of desire.
We may also infer that the final natural end of man
cannot be pleasure, but something distinct from pleasure,
since the final end must be the primary object of our
desire.

This theory may be objected to by reasoning as
follows ; A man may reflect on his own act and take
the ends or objects of nature in any order he likes.
Therefore, though in the order of nature we must first
know or desire the object of a faculty before we can
know or desire the pleasure attaching to the act of the
faculty, we may, nevertheless, by this power of reflec-
tion which belongs to all knowing subjects, reverse the
order of nature and make the act of desire or the pleasure
of the act our principal and primary end. Hence
pleasure can become our primary end.

The answer to this difficulty is to be found in argu-
ment 3 of the " Summa Contra Gentiles." It is as
follows : Such a reversal of the order of nature is,

* " S. Theol.," 1., Q. LXXXVIL, Art. 3.

t Means are sought not lor their own sake but as leading to the
end, and they are sought always in a secondary and later act.

282 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

indeed, possible to man. But this fact in no way
interferes with our thesis that the primary and natural
object of the will is some good distinct from the will
or any quality of the act of the will. The intellect,
St. Thomas tells us, in order to act — that is, in order
to understand — must understand some object. And
to know its act — that is, to know that it understands —
would be quite impossible did it not first understand
some object distinct from its own act. And as the
desire of the will from which our first pleasure is to
result must be the desire of some object, therefore, the
will, like the intellect, could not in its first act * desire
its own act, or any condition or quality of its own act.
Therefore, as pleasure is a quality of the will's act,
pleasure cannot be our primary end. The first desire,
then, must regard some object which is outside the will.
This object will be the natural end of will. If later by
reflection we make pleasure our principal end, the object
outside the will must still remain principal and final in
the order of nature.

A few words on the limits of this power of reflection
of which St. Thomas speaks will not be out of place.
An intellectual being is gifted with the full power of
reflection on his own acts, and hence an intellectual
being, having once had his first desire determined by
some outer object, may, afterwards, completely break
up the order of nature, make pleasure his principal end,
and seek objects as means to pleasure. A man may,
for instance, determine that to-morrow he will have a
pleasant day, and then think out the objects that will

• And not only our first act of will but also all subsequent un-
reflecting acts have, as their object, something other than pleasure.
This theory of St. Thomas Aquinas concerning the primary and
natural object of the will is supported by many recent ethicians,
notably by Ed von Hartmann in " Ethische Studien." "If we
consider the will," he writes, page 136, " with its concrete and varied
content, we shall find that the more instinctive, naive and unreflecting
the will is, the less do pleasure and pain enter into our conscious ends.
... If pleasure and pain do result from action, they are only acci-
dental bye-phenomena of the instinctive will, not essential factors ia
the content of conscious desire."

ON HEDONISM 283

best promote his pleasure. Still, the order that obtains
in his first act will for the most part obtain in those
subsequent acts which may be described as spontaneous,
natural, and unreflecting. In such acts man's desire is
mostly for objects, not for pleasure. The desire for
pleasure comes from reflection. But sense does not
enjoy this full power of reflection. Some senses, indeed,
have no power of reflection whatsoever. The eye, for
instance, cannot know that it sees. Nevertheless, even
a pure sense-being like the dog or the horse can in some
measure reflect upon itself, and so an animal may desire
its own pleasure. But the act of sense, like that of
intellect, must primarily and fundamentally regard an
outer object, and its first act in time must regard an
outer object alone. The animal, as we have already
pointed out, is first drawn to its food — not to the
pleasure which food affords. In the first movement of
appetite the animal has not as yet experienced pleasure,
and, therefore it could not desire pleasure. Now, the
object of its first act is the fundamental natural object
of the appetite. And hence the primary natural end of
the sensuous appetites cannot be pleasure. But when
experience has taught the animal that allied to food
and other objects is pleasure, it may 'in all its future
acts be drawn, not, indeed, to pleasure purely and
simply (for sense is not, like intellect, analytic, and,
therefore, it cannot separate in thought pleasure from
the object), but to the whole experienced psychosis —
object and imagined pleasure in one. What prominence
the pleasure may assume in that whole complex object
it is not easy to say ; but all observation would lead us
to the opinion that to the animal the object remains
always principal, that the imagination of the hungry
dog is fixed more on the food than on the pleasure which
is to be got by eating, no matter how vivid its imagina-
tion of pleasure may be. Even in man when animal
passion is at its strongest, and man is under the sway
of sense, when, for instance, in his anger he seeks to

284 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

revenge himself on an opponent, it is not the pleasure to
come that mostly occupies his mind but the object or
end which he wishes to attain. But intellect can analyse
the sense psychosis and pursue the sense pleasure for its
own sake.

It is not true, then, as some have stated, that
pleasures cannot be imagined or pursued for their
own sake. Pleasures may be sought both by animal
and by man, but the seeking of pleasure is not the
primary natural object of appetite whether sensuous
or intellectual.

II. Argument derived from the will's object as distinct
from the " rest " or quiescence that follows on the attain-
ment of the end.

There are three possible acts of an appetitive faculty
—love, desire, and pleasure. None of these can be
either the primary end of the faculty or the final end
(summum bonum) of man. Love and desire could not
be the end because they are natural tendencies towards,
and naturally progress into, pleasure. They are essen-
tially relative. Pleasure, on the other hand, is the
feeling of " rest " * which follows on the attainment of
the end. It is the " quies appetitus in bono possesso " —
in bono possesso (whether this possession be present
actual possession, or only the recollection of possession
in the past, or the imagination of a possession in the
future). This feeling of rest that follows on -attainment
presupposes the attainment of the end desired. It is
not, therefore, itself the end.

The proposition that the primary end of the will is
not the feeling of " rest " that results from the action
of the will is only a particular case of the more universal
statement that the " end " of movement is not the
" rest " that supervenes on movement. The " end "
of physical movement is place — not merely rest ;

• It must be rcmcmlx^rod that by quies or rest St. Thomas Aquinas
dofs I ot mean mere cessjilion from movement or action, but rest in
an end attained, and still possessed, and chmg to (adhacsio).

ON HEDONISM 285

physical movement could not begin if mere rest were
its end, for a body rests as much before starting as at
the end. This is true also of the will's movement.
St. Thomas tells us that " if the -principal aim of nature
were to secure (the subjective state of) pleasure for the
will (pleasure being the " rest " of the appetite in the
attainment of a good desired) nature would never have
given the inclination to the will " (that is, the in-
clination towards its end). This brings us once more to
the conclusion that pleasure is not man's primary
natural end.

III. The third argument is derived from the distinc-
tion between true and false pleasures. " Everything,"
writes St. Thomas, " has the truth of its nature by
having the constituents of its substance. For a real
man differs from a painted man by the constituents of
the substance of man." Now, pleasure is defined as the
" rest of an appetite in the possession of a good," and,
therefore, a true pleasure implies not only the " rest "
of an appetite, but " rest " in a true good — these being
the constituents of pleasure. Now, as mere states of
the appetite — that is, as " mere rest " — all pleasures
are equally true. All pleasures imply the repose of
an appetite in something. Merely as a state of the
appetite, as quiescence, the pleasure of drunkenness is
as true as the pleasure of wisdom. But pleasures are
distinguished as true or false according as the appetite
rests in a true or a false good — that is, according as it
rests in a good which leads to our final end, and, there-
fore, truly perfects our nature, or leads away from the
final end, and, therefore, destroys our nature. The
pleasure of drunkenness is a false pleasure, because the
good of it is only apparent — i.e., it leads to the loss of
our final end, and consequently leads to our destruction.
That of wisdom is a true pleasure because it leads to
our final end and perfects us in relation to the final end.
And as the final natural end of man is always and
necessarily the true good, and excludes evil, it follows

286 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

that pleasure, which may be either true or false, cannot
be man's final end.*

The following analogy t rnay help us to understand
St. Thomas' distinction between true and false pleasures.
All movement is, as movement, a real progress towards
something. Still there is a distinction of real and
apparent, or right and wrong progress according as it
is or is not progress towards the particular end which
we wish to attain. The man who while intending to go
East by mistake goes West is not progressing truly.
Hence, mere " movement " as such could not be the end
of one who wishes to reach an end, since movement
may not be true progress for such a person. So, also,
" pleasure " as such, being neither true nor false, cannot
be the natural end or object of desire.

IV. The fourth argument is derived from the equal or
indifferent ethical value of the means employed if pleasure
were the final end. Let us suppose for a moment that
pleasure is the sole natural end, and that, therefore,
the first law of nature is to seek for pleasure, making
all other ends a means to pleasure. Under these cir-
cumstances a man would, in the exercise of a faculty,
fully satisfy the claims of nature if he could succeed in
sustaining the pleasure apart from the realisation of the
object or objective end of the faculty. If, for instance,
pleasure were the end of man, then a man would fully
Batisfy the intentions of nature by sustaining (were it
possible) the pleasures of the stomach apart from eating ;
or sustaining the pleasure of the sexual faculty apart
from the end of that faculty — the good of the race. J

• St. Thomas goes on to show that the distinguishing of true from
false pleasures belongs not to will but to intellect, from which he con-
cludes not only that pleasure is not our imal end, but that our final
end consists in the good of the intellect. With this aspect of St.
Thomas' argument we have here nothing to do,

t The analogy is our own, not St. Thomas'.

J Wc sometimes find Hedonism described as a low and brutal
system of morals, because of the code to which it leads. It would
lead, it is stated, to lying, fornication, &c., because in many cases
these acts bring only pleasure, and tliey would, therefore, on the
theory of Hedonism, be justifiable. To our mind there is always

ON HEDONISM 287

But the result would necessarily be the starvation and
death of the individual in the one case, and the disap-
pearance of the race in the other — results that cannot
be in accordance with the intentions of nature, since the
clear purpose of nature is that we may live. St. Thomas
puts the argument very briefly : " If delight were the
last end, it would be desirable of itself. But that is
false, for it makes a difference what delight is desired,
considering the object from which the delight ensues ;
for the delight which follows upon good and desirable
activities is good and desirable, but that which follows
upon evil activities is evil and to be shunned. Delight,
therefore, has its goodness and desirabiUty from some-
thing beyond itself. Therefore, it is not the final end —
happiness." *

V. Argument from Nature's general use of pleasure as
a means only.

" The right order f of things coincides with the order
of nature, for natural things are ordained to their end
without mistakes. But in natural things delight (or
pleasure) is for activity, and not the other way about :
for we see that nature has attached delight to those
activities of animals which are manifestly ordained to
necessary ends, as in the use of food, which is ordained
to the preservation of the individual, and in the inter-
course of the sexes, which is ordained to the preserva-
tion of the species : for if delight were not in attendance,
animals would abstain from the aforesaid acts. It is
impossible, therefore, for delight to be the final end."

this difficulty in such arguments as these — that they take it for granted
that only our present code is lofty and good, that lying or. fornication
are low and cannot be good, a thing which the ethician really cannot
take for granted, but ought to prove But the true inner brutality
of Hedonism is here brought out by St. Thomas without any such
illogical presuppositions. The only presupposition in the case (it can
scarcely be called a presupposition) is that nature's primary end can
neither consist in nor include the destruction of the race. But to
represent as justifiable the sustaining of the pleasures of our faculties
apart from the realisation of their ends, must inevitably lead to the
degradation and ruin of the race.

* " Happiness " here means object of desire — summum bonum.

I From Father Rickaby's translation of " Summa Contra Gentiles."

288 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Briefly, if in the natural physical order pleasure is but
a means, it cannot be more than means in the natural
moral order. But it is plain that in the order of animal
life pleasure is only a means to function. Hence
pleasure cannot be man's final end.

We have said that pleasure is, in the order of nature,
a means to function. But it is only in the case of
sensitive and rational beings that function is promoted
by pleasure, and even in their case the law holds only
in regard to some functions. There are organic func-
tions, such as those of plant life, the acts of growth of
animals and men, and some of the acts of nutrition
that are carried out entirely without the use of pleasure
even as one of nature's means. Hence pleasure is not
even an indispensable means to functioning. Much
less could it be our end. And even when pleasure
attaches as means to a function it does not always
attach to what is principal, but often only to something
which is itself a means to the principal function. Thus
the pleasure of food attaches as a means not to the
function of growth and nutrition, but to that which is
only a means to growth and nutrition — namely, eating.
It is, therefore, in the order of nature merely a means
to a means.

The animal does not know that pleasure is but a
means. But man knows that pleasure secured in this
world is, in the order of nature, only a means, and that
if we take the whole series of ends into account, it is a
means to the final end ; and his knowledge of this fact
imposes on him an obligation of using pleasure in sub-
ordination to his final end as a rational being.

By these five arguments St. Thomas Aquinas estab-
lishes our thesis that pleasure cannot be man's sole
natural end. On the contrary, that an object distinct
from pleasure is also a natural end, that this object
is prior to pleasure, and that an object and not a pleasure
is the natural final end of man.

ON HEDOxNISM 289

Some arguments of moderns in support of this doctrine
will be noticed later (page 295).

(6) Some Arguments in Favour of Hedonism
Examined

psychological hedonism and ethical hedonism

In the preceding section we gave the substance of
St. Thomas Aquinas' refutation of the general theory
that pleasure is man's final end. We will now discuss
the case in favour of the Hedonistic theory, and we will
consider this case chiefly as advocated in its two forms
of Psychological and Ethical Hedonism,

Psychological Hedonism is the theory that pleasure is
not only the natural end of man, but that it is the sole
object of desire — the only thing that we are capable of
desiring. It is. Mill tells us, because pleasure is the
sole object of desire that we believe it to be a desirable
end, and the only desirable end. "The only proof,"
writes Mill,* " capable of being given that an object is
visible is that people actually see it. . . . In like
manner, I apprehend, the sole evidence it is possible
to produce that anything is dssirable is that people
actually do desire it. . . . No reason can be given
why the general happiness is desirable except that each
person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires
his own happiness." f Later in the same chapter Mill
emphasises the fact that pleasure is the sole object of
desire, and that if we desire other things it is because
they are associated with pleasure or are part of pleasure.
" The principle of Utility," he writes, " does not mean
that any given pleasure, as music, for instance, or any
given exemption from pain, as, for example, health, are
to be looked upon as means to a collective something
termed happiness, and to be desired on that account.

* " Utilitarianism," Chapter IV.

t Mill here makes the transition from Psychological Hedonism to
Utilitarianism. With this transition we have here no concern, but
only with the theory that each man desires his own happiness.

Vol. I — 19

290 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

They are desired and desirable in and for themselves ;
besides being means they are a part of the end. Virtue
according to the Utilitarian doctrine, is not naturally
and originally part of the end, but it is capable of
becoming so." Professor Rashdall also writes : * "In
the writings of Bentham and his followers the ethical
doctrine that actions are right or wrong according as
they do or do not tend to produce maximum pleasure is
founded upon the psychological theory that as a matter
of fact nothing is or can be desired except pleasure."

We now propose to criticise this theory by establish-
ing three propositions which treat the question in its
widest comprehension . —

(i) It is possible to desire pleasure.

(2) Pleasure is not the only possible object of desire.

(3) Pleasure is, however, a necessary condition of all
desire.

(i) It is possible to desire pleasure.

We have seen that by reflection upon our actions we
can break up, in our thoughts, the order of nature and
seek for the ends of nature in any order that we like.
Hence, though in the order of nature, object, as distinct
from will and pleasure, is our primary end, and happi-
ness only a secondary end, we can by reflection and the
power of analysis that belongs to intellect make happi-
ness or pleasure a primary, though not the primary
natural end of an act of the will. This is evident from
consciousness. It is possible for any man to do a thing
merely for the sake of the pleasure it affords him. A
man may, for instance, determine to have a day's
pleasure and then consider what objects will best pro-
mote his pleasure. Hence pleasure is a possible object
of desire.

But the general principle that it is possible to desire
pleasure, although evidently true, is not accepted without

* " Theory of Good and Evil," page 7.*

ON HEDONISM 291

reservation by some Ethicians. Two exceptions are
made to it by some writers who profess to prove that
the desire for pleasure is absolutely impossible in the
great majority of our acts — a theory which is extremely
anti-hedonistic, for if pleasure is an impossible object
of desire in the great majority of our acts, then pleasure
is not the only possible nor the only lawful object of
desire. These two exceptions are based, one {a) on the
nature of the will's deliberate choice between different
pleasures, the other 0) on the self-defeating character of
the desire for pleasure.

(a) The first of these exceptions is the theory of Pro-
fessor Rashdall and others that where desire results
from deliberation or choice (and most acts are acts of
choice) it is impossible that pleasure should be the end
of desire. For to choose amongst pleasures is to be
determined by something other than pleasure, just as
to choose between two men is to be determined by
something other than humanity. (6) The second is the
theory of Butler, who insists that pleasure cannot be a
prominent end of desire, and that in most cases it can-
not be an end at all, for to make pleasure the end would
be to defeat the purpose of the desire. To desire
pleasure would be to lose it. To attain pleasure there
must be some other object of desire distinct from
pleasure. This inner self-contradiction of " desire for
pleasure " is known as the Hedonistic Paradox. We
will examine these two arguments.

[a) Professor Rashdall contends that that in which
pleasures differ cannot be pleasure. We answer that
this proposition can only be accepted with a distinction.
That in which pleasures differ is not pleasure (in general),
for all pleasures are contained in the genus pleasure.
As pleasure, pleasures do not differ. But pleasures
differ as pleasures * as this and that pleasure, and that

* When we speak of pleasures (in the plural) we still refer to the
subjective state of pleasure. Some writers when they speak of
pleasures (in the plural) refer not to subjective states, but to pleasurable
objects.

292 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

in which they differ is a pleasure-difference. Colours
do not differ as colour, since all colours are contained
under the genus " colour," but they differ as this colour
and that colour, or as colours. And the difference
between them is a colour-difference — that is, it is not
something distinct from colour. So also pleasures differ
by a pleasure-element, by a greater or less in pleasure,
or by some other pleasure-element. Hence, though in
choosing between pleasures, our wills do not make the
preference on the ground of pleasure (in general), they
may still be moved b}^ pleasures. And this is all that
Mill as a hedonist contends for. The will is not neces-
sarily determined by a " collective something called
pleasure," but it is determined by this or that pleasure
or by pleasures.

(b) Pleasure, Butler tells us, so far from being the
natural object of the will, disappears from us the
moment we make it an object. Let a man, says Butler,
in hunting, fix his mind on the pleasure which the race
affords him, and, as if by magic, the pleasure vanishes.
To feel pleasure in hunting we must pursue the quarry
and fix our mind upon it and upon the scene around
us, the horses, the race, the hallooing, upon anything
in fact but that inner feeling of the mind called pleasure.
To seek for pleasure is to lose it. This opposition be-
tween making pleasure our end and success in obtaining
pleasure is known as the Hedonistic Paradox. The
obvious conclusion from it in reference to the question
we are at present treating is that since it is certain that
we do not in most of our acts defeat our own desire for
pleasure, pleasure is not and cannot be the object of
most of our acts.

This is an interesting theory, and deserves examina-
tion. Our view is that the desire for pleasure does not
defeat itself, that it is quite possible for a man to intend
pleasure — that is, make pleasure the end of his act, and
Btill gain pleasure. A man may, to use Butler's own
example, successfully make the hunt a means to pleasure

ON HEDONISM 293

— that is, he may determine upon having a day's
pleasure, and select hunting as the best and most
opportune way of securing it, and still derive pleasure
from the hunt. But though we may in any act intend
pleasure and attain it, still in some acts to attend to the
pleasure we receive might make pleasure impossible, for
it might make the act impossible which gives us pleasure.
When the act which gives us pleasure is a complex one
and requires all our attention for its proper performance,
it would be impossible for us to do the act as it should
be done, and attend to the pleasure it gives us. Simpler
acts, like the beholding of a beautiful scene, the percep-
tion of a sweet perfume, &c., do not exclude attention to
the pleasure they afford. Now, we believe that Butler,
in his example of the hunt, confounded these two things
— the intending of pleasure and attention to it at the
moment of receiving it. The hunt is a complex act, and
it requires the fullest attention of the individual. To
attend to the pleasure of the hunt would of necessity
prevent our hunting properly, for to hunt properly we
must give all our attention to the objects around us.
But, as we have said, a man may gain great pleasure
from hunting even though he intended the pleasure
principally and used the hunt as a means to pleasure.*

* We would direct the reader's attention to Spencer's strange
criticism of the hedonistic paradox. Butler's contention is that
naturally we seek, not pleasure within us, but object outside us.
The pleasure within arises from the pursuit of object without. Spencer
maintains that the pleasure within arises not from something without,
but from something within — i.e., our own action. It is not the fox
or the stag, he tells us, that gives us pleasure, but the pursuing of
them. He writes — " Recognising, then, the truth that the pleasures
of pursuit are much more th sc derived from the efficient use of means
than those derived from the end itself, we see that the fundamental
paradox of Hedonism disappears."

His criticism is, we maintain, irrelevant. To Butler it makes no
difference whatsoever whether the pleasure arises from the fox or
from the huntmg of it. He merely contends that if you fix your
mind upon the pleasure mstead of upon the quarry or the hunting
of it, the pleasure vanishes.

In the text we quote only one form of the hedonistic paradox ; but
there are many other forms of it. For instance (a) Green maintains
that pleasure arises in us from our attaining something that we desire
that, therefore, which is desired must be attained before pleasure

294 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

It is not true, therefore, that in most acts to seek for
pleasure would defeat its own end.

(2) Pleasure is not the sole possible object of desire.

In the earlier pages of this chapter we gave St. Thomas
Aquinas' proofs that pleasure is not our sole natural
end. From this it follows that the will is capable of
desiring other ends, other objects. Therefore, pleasure
is not the sole object of desire.

We have also shown that pleasure is not the primary
natural object of the will. The primary natural object

ensues. Hence pleasure cannot be the object of desire. This argu-
ment is very much akin to that of St. Thomas, given page 269. It is
not wholly invalid, [b) Muirhead insists that though pleasure can
move, it cannot be the object aimed at. " Let us admit," he writes,
" for argument's sake that the idea of the course of action chosen —
v.g., by the martyr — gives him greater pleasure than the idea of any
other course. But to make this admission is one thing, to contend
that in choosing that course he chooses his own pleasure is quite
another. Indeed, the one contention is exclusive of the other. If
the pleasure that moves us be excited by the idea of an act, it cannot,
at one and the same moment, be excited by the idea of pleasure. The
idea of a pleasure may of course move us, but then the pleasure
becomes an object of desire, and must in turn excite a present pleasure.
It follows then that the pleasure which moves (if it be pleasure which
moves) cannot be the pleasure aimed at." This recalls Leslie Stephen's
remark, that " it is more accurate to say that my conduct is deter-
mined by the picasantest judgment than to say it is determined by
my judgment of what is pleasantest.'*'

To answer Professor Muirhead we may, for clearness' sake, formu-
late his argument : action x would produce pleasure y. I form an
idea a of action x, and this idea produces in my mind pleasure b.
This pleasure b is quite distinct from pleasure y. The former attaches
to idea a, the latter to action or end x. That which determines my
will is not y but b, whereas Hedonism makes y the determining factor.
Answer. — Plainly Professor Muirhead fails to see that the plea.sure t-
which attaches to the idea a is only pleasure y anticipated, and repre-
sented in consciousness. An idea apart from the object it represents
has no pleasure in it. The pleasure of an idea is only the mental
representation of the pleasure which is to flow later on from the object
realised. The will, therefore, may be drawn by a future pleasure
now consciously represented. The fact that that pleasure has now to
be represented in consciousness before it can bcxome an end to the
will docs not i)rovc that the future pleasure is not that which draws
the will. Every end that draws us, tlirough our minds, must first
be represented in consciousness no matter iiow directly it draws us.
Hence, though future pleasure must now be represented in idea, it
is the future pleasure that is our end \vlun<:ver we are moved by
pleasure, and not the present idea or any quality or condition of it.

ON HEDONISM 295

of the will is an object outside the will. Pleasure,
therefore, cannot be the sole object of desire.

Besides these arguments, derived a priori from the
nature of the will and its object, an interesting a pos-
teriori argument from experience has been used by
Sidgwick, Rashdall and other moderns to prove the
proposition that pleasure is not the sole object of desire.
These writers aflfirm that it is the clear teaching of
experience that there are innumerable other objects of
desire besides pleasure.

According to Professor Rashdall,* " no pleasures . . .
are explicable on the hypothesis of psychological
Hedonism except those of a purely sensual character
and . . . aesthetic pleasures." As examples of desires
which are not for pleasure he instances the avenging
of a wrong and the relief of the sick. " It is not the
representation of my being pleased in the future which
makes the idea of the sick man relieved or of the wrong
avenged pleasant to me and so moves my will ; my
desire is that the actual objective result shall be
achieved." Also " hunger is neither a desire for the
pleasure of eating, nor (in its less acute forms) a desire
to avoid the pains of inanition ; but it is not quite the
same thing as a disinterested desire of food for food's
sake. It is simply an impulse to eat." f He also
claims that many of the desires of animals and of human
infants are desires for objects other than pleasure.

Sidgwick also instances desires for other objects than
pleasure. Thus, such acts as have for their end the
mere pursuit, as opposed to the attainment, of some-
thing are not as a rule directed to pleasure. " In such
cases," he writes, " it is peculiarly easy to distinguish
the desire of the object pursued from the desire of the
pleasure of attaining it." J Again, whilst allowing for
the possibility of benevolent actions being grounded in a

• " Theory of Good and Evil," Vol. I., page i8.

t Ibid., page 24.

t " Methods of Ethics," page 48

296 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

desire for pleasure or for the averting of sympathetic
pain, he yet insists that " the impulse to beneficent
action produced in us by sympathy is often so much out
of proportion to any actual consciousness of sympathetic
pleasure and pain in ourselves that it would be para-
doxical to regard this latter as the object." He also
quotes with approval Lecky's statement that reflection
on our moral consciousness seems to show that the
" pleasure of virtue is one which can only be obtained
on the express condition of its not being the
object sought." The desire for posthumous fame he
also regards as a desire for something other than
pleasure.

Our own view is that, taking first the case of adults,
whilst it is always possible that pleasure may play a
more important part in their desires than mere intro-
spection is able to reveal, it seems, nevertheless, un-
doubtedly true that in some acts, like that of the angry
man seeking to avenge himself, the dominant, if not
the only, desire present seems to be a desire not for
personal pleasure, but for the achievement of some
object — in this case, the infliction of pain on an enemy.
Acts of benevolence, too, seem to involve a desire for
something other than our own pleasure.

But whatever may be said of adults, it is certain that
the first desires of animals ani human infants are always
for some object other than pleasure, for it is only after
repeated action that the animal and the young infant
axe able to associate pleasure with certain actions, and
to do these acts for the sake of pleasure. But these
facts are not known to us by introspection or experience,
but by a priori reasoning on the impossibility of these
first desires being for pleasure.

The complete and satisfactory proof, then, that
pleasure is not the sole object of desire is a priori as
we showed at the beginning of this chapter, but it is
confirmed by the arguments from experience given
above.

ON HEDONISM 297

(3) Pleasure is a necessary condition of all desire.

Pleasure is a condition of desire because we have
shown that pleasure is the rest or quiescence which
follows on the attainment of the object — that is, on the
fulfilment of the desire. Every object of desire will,
when attained, give rest to the appetite which desires
it, and rest in the possession of a desired object is
pleasure. Therefore, pleasure is a necessary conse-
quence of the fulfilment of desire and a necessary con-
dition of desire itself, so that it would be impossible
for a man to desire a thing if he knew that it could not
give him rest or pleasure. But though pleasure is a
condition it is not (as we have shown) necessarily the
object of all desires.

But it is well to remember that there is no object
which we are absolutely unable to desire, for there is
one appetite the object of which is any good or good in
general — viz., the human will. Any object can in some
sense or under some aspect respond to that appetite.
And, therefore, any object may be desired, for every
object can give some rest at least to this appetite of
will. In desire we may not indeed think of pleasure ;
yet the element of pleasure will always remain an
attendant condition of the object, because that object
responds to the appetite, and is, therefore, capable of
giving the appetite rest or quiescence.

The hedonistic hysteron proteron. Bearing in mind
what we have just proved, that all ends presuppose the
capacity to please, we find it hard to agree with Pro-
fessor Rashdall's argument against Psychological
Hedonism, that instead of* pleasure being always the
cause of desire, desire is often the cause of pleasure.*
" The Hedonistic Psychology," he writes, " involves
a hysteron proteron ; it puts the cart before the
horse. In reality the imagined pleasantness is created
by the desire, not the desire by the imagined pleasant

• " Theory of Gtood and Evil," page 15.

298 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

ness." Professor Rashdall instances cases of the
pleasures of knowledge and of benevolence. It is, he
tells us, because I desire knowledge that I find it
pleasant, and it is because I desire to see people happy
that the disbursement of money becomes pleasant to
me. I find knowledge and benevolence pleasant be-
cause I desire them. Now, with this statement we
cannot agree. If an object is pleasant, it is pleasant
to me not because I desire it, but because it either
answers to a disposition in me or because it is a means
to something that will answer to a disposition. We
have in knowledge an instance of the first of these two
kinds of objects. Knowledge answers a disposition or
appetite in some men, and, therefore, do they desire it.*
Benevolence is an example of the second. Disburse-
ment of money is not desirable of itself. It is desirable
only as a means to that which answers to the inner dis-
position of benevolence — viz., the happiness of others.
But it is not the desire of disbursement which causes
the pleasure of disbursement. The desire of disburse-
ment itself arises from the fact that disbursement is a
means to an end, which end suits the disposition of the
benevolent man. And the pleasure of disbursement
arises from the attainment of or moving towards that
end. The desire to disburse money, therefore, is itself
a result and not a cause. It is not the cause of the
pleasure of benevolence. And hence these cases do not
disprove the theory of Psychological Hedonism that
desire is caused by the hope of pleasure. That theory,
however, we claim to have disproved on other grounds.
In concluding our review^ of Psychological Hedonism
we repeat that it is untrue ; for pleasure is not the
natural and original, much less the sole, object of desire.
In the order of nature pleasure is never the primary

• We speak now of the actual desire of knowledge. When the
Hedonist speaks of desire being always for pleasure he means the
actual desire, and not mere general liking. It is in this sense Prof.
Rashdall must use the word if his argument is to be pertinent to his
subject.

ON HEDONISM 299

end of an appetite. And if we consider the acts of an
appetitive faculty in the order of time the first act in
this order can never have pleasure for its direct object,
because the desire for the pleasure-giving object must
come before the desire for pleasure itself. But though
pleasure is not the natural or first object of desire it
may, to a being capable of reflecting on his own acts
and conditions intellectually, become an object of desire,
and similarly to a sensible being by associations of
feeling. But no object can become an object of desire
unless it be pleasure-giving in the sense of suiting some
disposition or appetite, which convenientia is the ob-
jective condition of desire. But it is not that which
we desire. To adopt an illustration from St. Thomas
Aquinas — to be known, an object must first be know-
able ; but it is not its knowability that is known. So,
also, to be desired, an object must answer to some dis-
position or appetite in a man, and be, therefore, pleasant,
but the suitability and the pleasantness are not what we
naturally desire.

ETHICAL HEDONISM

This theory is thus formulated by Professor James
Seth : * " Pleasure is the only thing desirable, though
it is not the only object of desire ; it is the only thing
worth choosing, though it is not the only thing chosen."
The theory of Ethical Hedonism, though formulated so
simply, we have very great difficulty in understanding.
For the question suggests itself — Do the " desirability "
and the " worth " or " value " spoken of by Professor
Seth really signify an Ethical desirability — a moral
value, or is the value spoken of a psychological value —
i.e., a value which consists in the capability of an object
to satisfy actual desire, as good foods, for instance, or
health are things that are capable of satisfying appetite ?

* " Ethical Principles," page 117. Professor Seth does not adopt
the theory. On the contrary, he subjects it to a most searching
criticism.

300 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Perhaps the distinction might be better brought out
thus — Do " desirable " and " worth choosing " signify,
first, what one ought to desire, or secondly, " what a
sensible or normal man, or what in their sensible
moments all men, will desire ? " If the first (and the
name " Ethical Hedonism " would lead us to believe
the first is the true supposition), then the system is
disproved by all that we have written to show that
pleasure is not our natural end, for surely if we ought
to desire anything we ought to desire our natural end. If
the second, then it has been disproved by what we have
said on Psychological Hedonism, for we have shown
that not only will a sensible man desire other things
than pleasure, but that nature itself has made us desire
something other than pleasure. We will take this
second meaning and discuss it. It seems to be the
meaning in which Sidgwick understood the theory,
and he states it for us as follows : He says that though
we may desire other things than pleasure, still, when we
" sit down in a calm moment," the only thing that seems
to have an absolute value for a man (he means — the
only thing about which we feel we need not ask — what
is it for ?) is pleasure.* Now, we believe that this
theory of Sidgwick 's as thus formulated will not bear
examination any more than the theory that pleasure is
the only thing one can desire. It is quite true that we
can always ask : " What is an object f or ? " " What is
food for ? " " What is eating for ? " " Why I should
bother about friends ? " and that consequently the value
of these things is relative to something else. But we
contend that their value is not their conduciveness to
pleasure, and consequently that pleasure is not what
in a calm moment we always desire. For the very
same questions which we ask concerning objects can
be asked also about pleasures. The man who enjoyed

• " Methods," Book III., Chapter XIV.

Followers of Sidgwick may object to our calling his sense of " value "
a psychological sense, but we believe that this is his meaning. At all
events, we explain what wc mean by " psychological. "

ON HEDONISM 301

his drink last night may ask to-day — " What good was
that pleasure ? " Pleasures, then, have not an absolute
value any more than objects. There is just one pleasure
about which we cannot rationally ask the question —
" What is it for ? " or " What good is it ? " — viz., the
pleasure of our final happiness. But neither can we
rationally ask that question about the final objective
good in the attainment and possession of which we
shall attain to perfect happiness. These two ends,
then, have an absolute value, and in a calm moment
we must recognise this. Hence St. Thomas Aquinas'
brief but weighty argument (in the article from which
we have borrowed so much in the present chapter) — " It
is a foolish thing to ask what pleasure is for, not because
pleasure is our end (it is not our end), but because it is
a concomitant of our final end " (and, therefore, is not
to be regarded as mere means to something else). Here
St. Thomas is speaking of the final happiness of man.

We admit, however, that even when there is no ques-
tion of the final end it would often be a meaningless
thing to enquire what pleasures are for. Thus, if on
being asked why we spend our time at Mathematics we
answer — for our own pleasure, nobody insists on the
further enquiry — and what is the pleasure of solving
mathematical problems for ? The pleasure in this case
is simply the result of an end attained. But from the
fact that pleasure in this case is not a means to anything
it does not follow that it has an absolute value or that it
is the end of our action. The waste steam of a loco-
motive is not a means to anything, yet it has no value
and is not the end desired. Pleasure in this case is a
necessary result of an end attained, but pleasure is not
necessarily the end which we desire to attain.

And even if we grant that in such cases pleasure has
an absolute value, if it is desirable on its own account,
we contend that there are other objects also which are
desirable on their own account, and are felt to have an
absolute value even in our calmer moments. As we

302 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

have already seen, before pleasure could become an
object of desire, other objects distinct from pleasure
must have been objects of our desires, and they are
desired for their own sake and not as means.*

To conclude our remarks on Ethical Hedonism —
Ethical Hedonism, if it means the theory that pleasure
ought to be desired in all our actions, has been dis-
proved by all those arguments which show that pleasure
is not our natural end. If, however, it means that
pleasure is the only thing that a rational man does value,
the theory is only another form of Psychological Hedon-
ism, and it is disproved by all that we have said in
contravention of that theory.

PLEASURE NOT THE ULTIMATE CRITERION OF THE GOOD

In the Hedonistic system pleasure fulfils two functions
in regard to morality. First, it is represented as man's
final end, and, therefore, as that through which acts are
made good. Secondly, it is made the criterion of the
good — that by which we know that an act is good. Of
these functions the second is dependent on the first in
the hedonistic system. It is because pleasure is repre-
sented as our end — as that which makes actions good —
that a resulting surplusage of pleasure over pain is made
the test of goodness.

We have already criticised pleasure as the final end,
and have shown that it is not the final end, from which
it follows that acts are not good or bad merely through
their pleasurable or painful consequences. We now go
on to show that pleasure, or a surplusage of pleasure
over pain, is not the criterion of the good. Our first

• When a man answers the question, " Why do you do so-and-so ? "
with the reply, " I do it for the pleasure of it," he docs not always
mean that pleasure was an object of conscious desire, but only that
he socks the object for its own sake and not as a means to something
else, or that such an object suits his dispositions and corresponds to
an appetite within him.

ON HEDONISM 303

argument in this connection should naturally be that
since pleasure is not the sole natural object of desire it
cannot be the primary criterion of the good. This
point, however, we shall not develop further here since
we have already said so much on pleasure as our end.
The point on which we shall most insist in favour of
our thesis now is that, if pleasure were the ultimate
criterion of the good, it would be necessary to predict
pleasure as the consequence of an act in order to judge
that the act is moral. We should, therefore, be able
to tell, at least in regard to most acts, whether the
consequences will be pleasurable or painful — that is,
whether their final resultant will be a surplusage of
pleasure or of pain. But this, we contend, cannot be
known except in very few cases. We conclude, there-
fore, that pleasure or a surplusage of pleasure over pain
is not the ultimate criterion of the good.

This argument of ours demands fuller explanation
and proof. We have said it would be necessary to
predict the pleasure-result ; it would be necessary to
do this with certainty. Otherwise pleasure could not
be the ultimate criterion ; for the ultimate criterion is
the ultimate test, and should be practicable and capable
of being applied with certainty. But if the pleasure
were uncertain, our test could not be applied with
certainty.

Moreover, we say that it would be necessary not only
to tell the surplusage of pleasure or pain in the case of
a class of acts considered in general, but also to predict
the consequences of each individual act, in individuo et
in concreto considered in relation to the individualising
circumstances. To illustrate this distinction we may
take the example of murder or lying. The problem of
telling the resultant pleasure or pain of murders or lies
in general is quite a different problem from that of pre-
dicting the surplusage of pleasure or pain that will
ultimately result from a particular murder or a par-
ticular lie.

304 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Now, our statement that on hedonistic principles it
would be necessary to be able to predict the conse-
quences of the individual act requires proof because
it is in direct conflict with the teaching of certain
hedonists who say it is enough if they are able to tell
the consequences of a line of action in general, for
example, of lying in general, or, which is practically
the same thing, to tell what would happen if lying were
generally allowed ; and that they should not be ex-
pected to tell the consequences of the individual act,
for example, of a particular individual lie. They hold
that the ordinary man wiU be quite safe in following
such general moral axioms {axiomata media they are
called) as that lying and murder and stealing tend to
bring pain rather than pleasure, and leaving the effects
of the individual circumstances completely out of
account.

Our case against this reading of Hedonism is as
follows : To the hedonist pleasure is not merely the
criterion of good — it is also the- cause of good — that is,
it is that through which acts are constituted good. An
act is good according to the hedonists because of the
pleasure it yields. Now, just as no individual can be
a man unless the nature humanity be in him individu-
ally (humanity being that which constitutes us men), and
just as an individual object cannot be a tree unless
fibres, sap, trunk be present in the indiivdual (these
being the things that constitute anything a tree), so
if pleasure and pain be the constitutive element of
morality, if what makes an act good is the pleasure
it causes, then no individual act can be regarded as
good unless individually it produces a surplusage of
pleasure, and no individual act as bad unless individu-
ally it produces a surplusage of pain. Were pleasure
and pain on the hedonistic theory mere criteria of
morality we would allow that, since the tendency to
pain which is characteristic of stealing in general or of
most acts of stealing is a good general test of the

ON HEDONISM 305

morality even of this particular act of stealing, then
this act is most probably bad, since it will probably
bring pain. But since hedonists regard pleasure and
pain as more than a criterion, since they regard pleasure
as the final end, and pleasure and pain as the very
things that make an act good or bad, then if we are to
determine truh' the morality of a particular act we
must determine the consequences of this act in par-
ticular, otherwise we should not succeed in determining
the morality of this act. And if it be found that a
particular act of stealing or of lying produces pleasure
only, or a surplusage of pleasure over pain, then no
matter what may be the general tendency of stealing
or lying, we do not know how a consistent hedonist
can say that this particular act of stealing is anything
but good. To apply, therefore, to this case the principle
that steahng in general leads to pain, and to neglect
the fact that this particular act is certain (I suppose a
case in which it is certain) to yield a surplusage of
pleasure is inconsistent and illogical. It is illogical
because it is inconsistent — inconsistent, that is, with
the hedonistic principle that pleasures and pains are
the things that make an act good or bad.

We repeat, therefore, that if the hedonist is to
determine truly the morality of acts, he is bound to
determine the pleasurable or painful consequences of
individual acts.

Having established our position that on the hedonist
theory it would be necessary to predict with certainty
the pain or pleasure resulting from individual acts, we
now return to the proof of the minor premiss of our
argument — namely, that the pleasure results cannot be
known except in a very few cases. Now, there are
two methods of determining surplusage in order to
fit pleasure to be a workable test, and it will be neces-
sary to show that in both systems we fail to determine
the resultant effect of action in terms of pleasure or of
pain. First, there is the method of simple experience ;

Vol. I — 20

3o6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

secondly, there is the scientific method of discovering
the cause of pleasure and deducing from this cause the
pleasurable and painful results of action.

We shall first prove that simple experience or
SIMPLE INTROSPECTION Cannot yield us certainty on
the pleasurable and painful effects of individual acts.
Of this proposition the following are the proofs : (i)
Most feelings defy measurement altogether. The
pleasure we get from telling the truth, for instance, is
not a thing we can pick out in our consciousness in
such a way as tp be able to determine and measure it.
We can separate off heat and electric currents from
the movements to which they are attached, and by
which they are caused ; we can examine these pheno-
mena separately, and devise means for measuring them,
but no similar separation and comparison for purposes
of measurement can be made by our consciousness in
the case of pleasures and pains. With most of our
actions, whether good or bad, much of the pleasure
may never rise into conscious notice at all, or at least
to a degree which is calculable. On the other hand,
where an action does produce intense pleasure or pain,
the effect is as a rule so complicated and lawless that
to trace it through all its ramifications and discover
the resultant pleasure or pain is a sheer impossibility.
(2) And if after much trouble the pleasures of an action
could be traced there would still remain the difficulty
of balancing the pleasures against the pains and saying
on which side the advantage lay. The pleasures of
some actions can, no doubt, be compared with the pains.
I might know, for instance, that the pleasure of eating
sweets would be more than counterbalanced by the
pains of toothache, but if I tell a lie to save expense,
and thereby lose the friendship of my neighbour, how
am I to compare the pain of losing my friend with the
pleasure of saving money. (3) There is no known
standard by which I am to know the quantitatively
relative value of pleasures even amongst themselves.

ON HEDONISM 307

Thus, intensity and duration are often in inverse ratio,
and how shall we compare the one element with the
other in making our calculus of pleasures ? (4) Most
pleasures resist examination except in memory, and in
memory it is difficult to recall intensity or, indeed,
anything else that will afford much ground for calcula-
tion or comparison. Present pleasures are equally
elusive. To examine them may even involve their
disappearance, for enjoyment and present investigation
of our feelings seem unable to go well together. (5) It
is quite impossible to say where the line of pleasures
connected with an act has its ending. Who can say
whether the pleasures and pains we experience as old men
are or are not connected with our actions when young ?
The pleasures, particularly that we may have lost by
failing to follow lines of action that were open to us,
are never even roughly determinable. (6) Pleasures
depend so much, not only on the act we do, and for
which we can account, but also on our own humours
for which we cannot account (that which pleases us
to-day bringing us nothing but displeasure to-morrow),
that anything like a fixed table of the pleasures of
action would seem to be of its very nature impossible.
(7) And pleasure depends not on our humours only,
but also on the thousand and one accidents of life, a
single incident often turning a pleasure into pain, a
gain into a loss, and vice versa. If a chance barrier
will turn aside the river from its course, how much
more will slight things alter that which is far more
sensitive than the river — the course of inner feelings —
of pleasure and of pain. The pleasure and pain re-
sultant, therefore, of individual acts is not determinable
by the method of simple introspection or simple ex-
perience.

We now go on to show that the more scientific
method * of determining pleasures by discovering the

* The use of this method has given to the particular kind o£
Hedonism now under discussion the name of Scientific Hedonism.

3o8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

law or cause of pleasure is not more successful than
the method just discussed under the name of simple
experience. But before doing so it will be necessary
to give a fuller description of this scientific method.
The method is that of first determining the law or
cause (in this case, the physiological cause) of pleasure,
and then deducing from that cause or law the pleasur-
able or painful effects of an act. This is the method
followed by Spencer * and the Evolutionary school
generally. These ethicians differ amongst themselves
on the question of what is the general law or cause of
pleasure, but they agree that unless we can discover
the cause of pleasure it is impossible to predict the
effects of action with anything like scientific accuracy.
Now, the law or cause of pleasure most commonly
assigned by these philosophers is the promotion of life.
Acts are pleasurable, they say, in proportion as they
tend to promote vitality, painful in proportion as they
tend to suppress vitality, and they add, in consequence,
that we have but to determine whether an act increases
or impairs our vitality in order to know whether it will
produce a surplusage of pleasure over pain. It is to
this form of the scientific method that we shall here
direct our criticisms.

In criticism we say —

(i) The general " law " or cause of pleasure does not
seem to promise very practical results in the determin-
ing of the pleasure effects — a point which will probably
have suggested itself already to the reader. It seems
to promise even less than the simple method of Hedon-
ism explained above — the system, namely, of those
hedonists who rely on experience and common sense

•"I conceive it to be the business of Moral Science," he writes,
" to deduce from the laws of life and the conditions of existence what
kinds of action necessarily tend to produce happiness and what kinds
to produce unhappiness. Having done this its deductions are to be
recognJHcd as laws of conduct, and are to Ix; conformrd to, irrespective
of a direct estimation of happiness or misery " {" Principles of Ethics,"
Vol, I., page 57).

ON HEDONISM 309

for guidance in the question of the calculus of pleasures.
For it seems quite as difficult to say whether such an
act as lying or stealing affects vitality well or ill, as to
say whether it will produce pleasure or pain. Indeed,
it seems to us that when Scientific hedonists proceed to
show that certain acts like lying and stealing suppress
vitality, they make no small use, in coming to their
conclusion, of the pleasurable or painful effects of these
actions — that act will suppress vitality, they argue,
which brings pain — so that it would seem that to
determine the pleasurable and painful effects im-
mediately from experience is even an easier thing
than to determine whether an act promotes or sup-
presses vitality, and that the pleasurable effects are
better known than the vital effects.

Of course there are some acts, like suicide, starva-
tion, murder, neglect of one's children, which so
evidently concern life and health that no rational
man could have any doubt about their effect on vitality.
But these cases are very few — they form a very small
portion of the whole range of moral acts. Moreover,
such examples as murder or the neglect of one's children
cannot apply in the present instance, for the obvious
decrease of vitality in these instances occurs in the
persons acted on — the person murdered or the child
neglected — rather than in the murderer or the negligent
parent, whereas Hedonism judges of the morality of
action not by its effect on others, but by the painful
and pleasurable effects of an action on the person who
performs the act.

(2) It is not easy to say how far, in the use of this
scientific method, hedonists pretend to be able to pre-
dict by means of their peculiar " law " or cause the
pleasurable effects of individual acts. Leslie Stephen
certainly confesses that a moralist is bound to take
account of individual circumstances in determining
morality, and to neglect to do so he calls " moral
pedantry." Still we think that no Scientific hedonist

310 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

could ever hope to be able to tell the effect of an
individual lie on the vitahty of the liar, or of an act
of stealing on the vitality of the robber. His bodily
vitality is certainly not in the least affected by it, and
his acuteness and strength of mind — that is, his mental
vitality — are not impaired by the act in any way, and
consequently it would seem that even the Scientific
hedonists are open to the same criticism that we have
already applied to the direct method of simple Hedon-
ism— namely, that it can only predict the general
tendency of a line of action to produce certain effects,
whereas a consistent Hedonist should, if his theory is
to have any value, be able to predict the effect of the
individual act, the morality of which he intends to
explain and determine. But even when the Scientific
hedonist succeeds in predicting the general tendencies
of a particular class of acts he does so, as we have
already said, largely by the light of ordinary experience,
and not by his a priori " cause " or " law."

(3) Even if we could determine what acts promote
and what impair vitality, the question still remains —
how far increase of vitality brings pleasure ? A low
bodily vitality certainly brings with it liability to pain,
but intense bodily vitality — the vitality of a high
nervous sensibility — renders one also liable to pain.
A low mental vitality precludes the possibility of the
higher interests and their pleasures. But very great
mental vitality, in the sense of great mental acuteness
and alertness is often a source of pain more than of
pleasure.

In one sense only can we admit the general statement
that increase of vitality brings pleasure — the sense, viz.
that the natural development of the faculties according
to the laws and requirements of organism must on the
whole bring pleasure. But in this sense we make the
" good " (the " good " being the development of our
faculties towards the natural ends) the criterion of
pleasure, not vice versa, whereas the aim of Hedonism,

ON HEDONISM 311

whether Empirical or Scientific, is to make pleasure the
criterion of the good.*

We think, therefore, that " Scientific Hedonism " is
not more promising either in its principles or its results
than the theory of Empirical Hedonism which we have
already rejected.

MILL S DEFENCE OF HEDONISM. HIS THEORY OF QUALI-
TATIVE DISTINCTIONS BETWEEN PLEASURES

One of the principal charges usually directed against
the hedonistic criterion is that, carried to its logical
conclusions, it sanctions a low and brutal code of
morality. To save it from this charge Mill introduced
into his hedonistic system the theory of a qualitative
distinction between pleasures.

Pleasures, he contends, do not differ merely quanti-
tatively— they differ also qualitatively. We may get
as much pleasure (quantitatively regarded) from murder
as from philanthropy, but the pleasures of philanthropy
are of a far higher order than those of murder, and,
therefore, they should be rated much higher in the
calculus. A man pays more for one suit of clothes
than for another,! though the two have the same
weight ; for one painting than another, though they
represent the same labour ; to hear one song rather
than another, though the better singer may not have
so loud a voice. So with pleasures — one may be
quantitatively greater than another, and yet that other
may be of a higher quality, so much higher as even to
outbalance the quantitative difference. Hedonism,
therefore, does not mean a " low " or a savage morality,
since when quahtative differences are allowed for, the
balance of pleasure will always be on the side of the
higher act.

* A fuller account of Scientific Hedonism and its defects can be
found in Sidgwick's " Methods," page 177.
t The illustrations are our own.

312 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

We must carefully examine Mill's contention, and for
that purpose we shall ask two questions : —

{a) Are there such things in pleasures as distinctions
of quality ?

(6) If there are such distinctions can they be made
the basis of a distinction of acts into Ethically higher
and lower ?

(a) Are there distinctions of quality between pleasures ?

Opponents of Hedonism, and of Mill in particular,
have denied the existence of any such distinctions.
But we must, in fairness to Mill, admit that such dis-
tionctions exist. It should be perfectly plain to any
man who gives this subject his honest attention that
our pleasures differ very widely in quality. The
pleasures of hearing, e.g., are not the same as those
of taste. The pleasures of smell are of various qualities,
as various, indeed, as the odours themselves. In fact,
the pleasure got from the scent of the rose need differ
from that given by the scent of roast meat in one way
only — that is, qualitatively ; in intensity they may be
both the same. Again, we often compare pleasures
in respect of quality, and call one finer or more delicate
than another, and, therefore, we have the clear testi-
mony of our consciousness that pleasures differ in
quality.

Some maintain that differences which are spoken of
as qualitative differences in pleasure are differences not
in the pleasures themselves, properly speaking, but in
the objects which give the pleasure — that it is im-
possible pleasures could differ as pleasure, since pleasure
is the common element in all. Now, this theory seems
to us to be founded on an ambiguity. There can be
no doubt that pleasures differ not only as regards their
objects but also as subjective states. But these sub-
jective states differ not as pleasure, since pleasure is
the common element in them, but as pleasures, just as

ON HEDONISM 313

colours differ not as colour (since " colour " is the
common underlying conception in all of them), but as
colours. But the difference between pleasures is a
" pleasure difference," not a difference of something
other than pleasure.

Hence, besides differences in objects of pleasure,
there are also qualitative (pleasure) differences between
pleasures themselves.*

(6) Our second question is — Are qualitatively distinct
pleasures to he divided off into higher and lower ? By
higher and lower we mean ethically, not aesthetically,
higher and lower. There is no difficulty in thinking
of one pleasure as aesthetically more delicate and
beautiful than another. But are pleasures capable of
being formed into a regular ethical series, beginning at
the lowest level of moral evil and rising up to the
highest line of moral excellence ? We will give an
example of this Ethical gradation of pleasures. If
murder is bad, and if the pleasure I get from it be
intense, then it is plain that, on hedonistic lines, in
order to make up for this excess in quantity, the
pleasure of murder must be low down qualitatively in
the scale of pleasures, else murder would be, not bad,
but good. If there be no such series it will be useless
to speak of qualitative distinctions in pleasures as a
means to distinguishing the moral qualities of actions.

The first difficulty that we meet if we try to con-
struct an Ethical series of pleasures is that pleasures
as pleasures cannot be divided off into good and bad.
Pleasures as pleasures considered out of relation to
anything else have no Ethical or moral character. No
pleasure is bad in itself — i.e., no pleasure is bad as
pleasure. Some pleasures are bad because the acts of
the will to which they are attached are bad, and the

• Prof. Seth maintains that qualitative differences can be resolved
into quantitative if we take into account the nature of the person who
experiences the pleasure. "For the higher nature," he says, "the
higher pleasure is also the more intense pleasure " (" Ethical Principles,"
page 125).

314 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

reason why it is wrong to seek certain pleasures is not
because, the pleasurable feeling is bad in itself, but
because the pleasurable feeling is attendant on an act
which is bad.* There would, therefore, be no difficulty
whatsoever in constructing a scale of pleasures arranged
in order of Ethically higher and lower, in a system of
Ethics which is not hedonistic, for, having in such a
system arranged the actions in an Ethical series, we
might then arrange the pleasures of these acts in a
corresponding series. But how is the hedonist to
arrange his scale of pleasures ? It is by the scale of
pleasures that he must determine the morality of acts,
and, therefore, it is not open to him to arrange his
pleasures in a scale which itself depends upon the
morality of acts. There is, therefore, nothing left for
him but to arrange the scale of pleasures by something
in the pleasures themselves. But since pleasures as
pleasures are morally neutral this is impossible.

Now, this proposition that pleasures as such, and
without reference to anything else, are morally in-
different will not be accepted by hedonists who hold
that all pleasure is morally good, and, therefore, we
proceed to a second difficulty which we think the
hedonists must recognise — namely, that even if all
pleasures are morally good, hedonists cannot point to
anything which those pleasures contain in themselves —
that is, apart from the acts to which they are attached
— sufficient to grade the pleasures in an Ethical series
of high and low.

Two kinds of tests seem possible. One is to regard
those pleasures as higher that belong to the higher
faculty, intellectual pleasures being higher than those
of sense, the pleasures of the so-called iesthctic senses,
like those of sight and hearing, being higher than those
of touch, &c. The other is the criterion of human
testimony.

The first is suggested to us by Mill's contention that

• Aristotle, " Nich. Eth.," X., 5, 6.

ON HEDONISM 315

one had rather be a man dissatisfied than a pig satisfied,
the reason being that a small intellectual satisfaction is
much greater than a great sense satisfaction. But this
method of gradation we cannot accept, because pleasures
of intellect are often much worse morally than those of
sense, and those of sense worse than those of the vegeta-
tive faculties,* as the following examples will make
clear. To rejoice at the downfall of one's neighbour
is a purely intellectual pleasure, whilst to feel the
warmth of a summer breeze is sensuous. But surely
this latter pleasure is better than the pleasure of hatred.
On the other hand, to look upon obscenity is an act of
the senses, whilst to eat is an act of the vegetative
faculty, and surely the latter is the better of the two.
An act, therefore, is not better because it proceeds
from the higher faculty, and consequently the pleasures
of the higher faculty are not necessarily better than
those of the lower.

The second test is explicitly proposed by Mill himself.
When men, he says, prefer certain pleasures to certain
others as a rule, that is a sign that these latter pleasures
are ethically lower. This seems to be the ultimate test
according to Mill — the testimony of " those that know."
On this test of gradation in pleasure we would make
three remarks. First, Mill maintains that it is only
those that have experience of differences in quantity
and quality of pleasure that are capable of judging in
this matter. But, granting for the moment that ex-
perience can tell a man which of two acts will bring
him the greater pleasure, still we maintain that ex-
perience cannot tell him which of these two pleasures,
the greater or the lesser, is the higher. There is only
one way by which even the initiated and experienced
can tell what pleasures are higher, and that way is by

* We might for Ethical purposes, as we have already shown, regard
intellect as of more importance in the organism than sense, and sense
than the vegetative faculty, and we might make use of this com-
parison in determining morality ; but they are not in themselves
morally better or worse the one than the other.

3i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

having a fixed standard of higher and lower with which
to compare the pleasures as they come. But that is
the very standard for which we are looking, and until
it can be provided Hedonism must fail as an ethical
criterion. Secondly, if those who are capable of judging
do actually distinguish between the higher and the
lower, it is not directly in reference to pleasures that
such distinctions are made, but rather in reference to
the acts to which those pleasures are attached. Men
know that pleasures of benevolence are higher than
those of drinking beer, because they know that acts
of benevolence are higher than the act of drinking beer.
If, then, men do prefer some courses to others it is
because they are persuaded that certain acts are bad
and others good, and the pleasures of the first class of
acts they regard as bad and the pleasures of the other
as good, and in the same degree as the acts to which
the pleasures are attached are bad and good. Thirdly,
who, on Mill's theory, are the experienced and they that
know ? for it is important that we should be informed
who are the appointed judges of what is good or bad
for us. Mill himself tells us that as men grow older
they become more selfish, and that consequently it is
to youth we must look for these moral preferences on
which to frame the moral law. But why should the
practice of the old and selfish be put aside, and that of
the young and spirited be made the moral standard
except that already the selfish has been made the lower
pleasure and the spirited and generous the higher ?
But spirited generosity is not the hedonistic basis of
morals. On the other hand, if the old are included
amongst the judges, their principal quaHfication as
judges will be their experience, and if experience is a
qualification in the construction of the pleasure scale,
the best judges must be the gourmands and the gouty
who have tried and compared all pleasures in quantity
and in quality and found some wanting and others com-
mendable. The best judge of a road is, ceteris paribus,

ON HEDONISM 317

the man who has walked over it ; and in the same
way the best judge of what is pleasant should be the
man who, in the matter of pleasure, has taken nothing
on faith, but conscientiously tried all pleasures in turn.
This means making the opinion of bad men the proper
standard of " good " and " evil," which would be most
objectionable in practice. Again, in this matter we
must, as ethicians, be prepared to reckon with those
who like to judge for themselves about right and wrong ;
and it would be a hard thing if we should say to them —
" Thus have your fathers judged. It was for them to
taste pleasures and examine them. It is for you to
submit to their decision." Indeed, if pleasure be the
moral criterion, then it is certain that most people will
like to taste and judge for themselves ; and we do not
know on what principle of Hedonism one could rationally
prevent them. But if we do allow them to taste and
judge for themselves we are certainly making crime a
necessary condition of virtue.

In conclusion, therefore, we summarise our position
by saying that pleasures may differ qualitatively, but
that to divide them into ethically higher and lower we
need a theory of Ethics other than the hedonistic*

• To the arguments stated above we may add a consideration of
some importance, that the law that would bind us always to follow
the higher pleasure in preference to the lower is an extravagant law.
Most men are bound to no more than the good ethically ; that is,
no man is bound to the highest or the best. On Mill's theory every
man would be bound to follow the higher pleasure in the presence of
a lower. He would, consequently, be always bound to the best.

CHAPTER XI
ON UTILITARIANISM

" We live in the midst of a multitude of beings like ourselves iipon
whose happiness most of our actions exert some obvious and decisive
influence. The regulation of this influence is the object of moral
science." — Shelley. _^..

""aKbEFINITION

Utilitarianism or Universalistic Hedonism may be
defined as the theory that the happiness * of mankind
at large constitutes the ultimate end of the individual
man, and that consequently those actions are to be
regarded as right and good which promote that happi-
ness, and those actions as wrong and bad which tend
to produce the opposite effect. We adopt this definition
because it represents the commonest form of the theory
of Utilitarianism.

We are not unaware that some modern utilitarians
make the well-being of society, not its happiness, the
end of the individual. In other words, there are utili-
tarians who are not hedonists. Although these arc
technically outside our definition we draw the reader's
attention to them here,t first, for completeness ;
secondly, because their system is confuted by the argu-
ment which we draw in the present chapter from the
fact that the individual is not wholly subordinate to
society, which is one of our two main objections to

• The present chapter goes to show that the good of society is not
the end of the individual, whether that good Ix; in the nature of
pleasure or happiness or general well-being. We may therefore be
allowed to dispense for the present with tlic technical distinction
between pleasure and happiness already explained and to use these
words as roughly equivalents of each other.

t Many of these non-hedonistic utilitarians belong to the evolu-
tionist school of cthicians, and their theories arc criticised in our
chapter on Evolutionist Ethics. Green's is, perhaps, tlie most pro-
minent example in recent times of non-hedonistic utilitarian systems.

(on utilitarianism 319

Utilitarianism in general, whether hedonistic or other-
wise. Our other chief objection to Utilitarianism — that
it makes pleasure our sole natural end — can, of course,
refer to hedonistic Utilitarianism alone.

Moreover, we have grouped together in the present
chapter all theories of hedonistic Utilitarianism, although
they are many and of great diversity — for instance,
Bentham's and Mill's theory that that act is good which
gives the greatest_pleasiii(- to tlic ^re;itest number of
sentient beings ; Cumberland's theory that the pleasure
of human Society is the only end ; Comte's and Fichte's
theory of pure altruism that the_end of the individual
is the happiness of all other men exclusive of his ovvn»
regard to one's self being considered in this system, ^f
not bad, at least un-moral. We even include in our
account thaF very modified form of altruism advocated
by SJiaftesbury that " the natural predominance of
benevolence is good and the subjection of selfishness is
virtue7' Of these different forms of Utilitarianism it
would be impossible for us to take separate account.
Nor is it necessary that we should do so ; for, if we
shall succeed in showing that the end of man is not
the happiness or well-being of society, we shall have
removed what is fundamental in every form of Utili-
tarianism, and then these separate systems fall of
themselves.

p) Utilitarianism — How far True

Like most false ethical theories. Utilitarianism is not
all wrong. It is wrong in so far as it makes the general
happiness the sole end of man, thereby completely sub-
ordinating the individual to society. Now, that the
sole end of man is not his own happiness we have shown
in the preceding chapter ; and almost all the arguments
there used might be applied equally well here to prove
that our end as individuals cannot be the happiness of
the race. But, in the present chapter, we must supple-
ment those arguments by others that are proper to the

;

320 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

theory of Utilitarianism. That man is not wholly sub-
ordinated to society it will be our business also to
establish.

But Utilitarianism asserts many things that are true,
and amongst these are two salient doctrines that are of
paramount importance in Ethics. One is that man has
a very special duty of beneiLClence towards his fellow-
men, a duty which is certainly as important as many of
his special duties towards himself. Another is that the
general welfare is in some sense a genuine criterion of
moral good. A word on each of these.

" Man," says St. Thomas Aquinas, " is not wholly
political " or social. But neither is man wholly indi-
vidual. We are by nature a part of society. Without
society we could not develop, and development is a
natural need of man. Hence, society is a natural
necessity, and we have a natural duty to promote its
welfare. What that duty is, and how far it extends,
we shall see in the second portion of this work. At
. ji present we may say that our duty to our fellow-man
occupies a very large portion of our moral life, but it
is not the whole of that life.
\/ The second truth of Utilitarianism is also of im-
portance in a Science of Ethics — namely, that the
general good is a genuine criterion of the morality of
human acts. It will be remembered that amongst our
secondary criteria of morality, that on which we laid
the greatest stress, had reference, 4ik^ the utilitarian
theory, to the happiness or misery of society. We
showed that an act is good if, on being raised to a
general rule of conduct, it benefits — bad, if it injures —
the human race ; and though these racial effects are
not the primary criterion of morals, they afford us a
genuine secondary criterion, and one much used in
^acticaljife.

These are the principal elements of truth in Utili-
tarianism. But Utilitarianism does not stop at these.
It represents the common good not merely as one end

ON UTILITARIANISM 321

for the individual, but as the sole and all-embracing
end. It makes man wholly subject to society. Also,
it represents the general happiness, not as a secondary
criterion of morality, but as the only or the funda-
mental criterion.

In the two following sections we hope to disprove
these two assumptions by showing, first, that the
general happiness of society is not the final end of the
individual ; secondly, that the general happiness cannot
be the sole or even the primary criterion of good action.

/(cy Disproof of the Theory of Utilitarianism that
^""^ THE General Happiness is Man's Final End

(i) Our first argument is that happiness is not "^ur
final end — neither the happiness of the individual nor
the happiness of the race. This has been abundantly
proved already in our chapter on Hedonism ; for of
those arguments which we quoted from St. Thomas to
disprove Hedonism many are proofs that happiness
(not the happiness of the individual, but happiness
simply) is not our final end, which arguments, there-
fore, tell equally well against Utilitarianism as against
Hedonism. They need not be repeated here. ;' ♦ 2 ^ C

(2) Our second argument in proof of the proposition > > -
that neither the happiness nor the well-being of society ^

can be the final end of the individual is that which we
have already proved — that all men are, ordained to a
common end other than mere society,* an end which is

♦ This argument is given by St. Thomas Aquinas in answer to an
objection : " Ultimus finis cujuslibet rei," he objects, " est in suo
opere perfecto, unde pars est propter totum sicut propter finem.
Sed tota universitas creaturarum . . . coroparatur ad hominem . . ,
sicut perfectum ad imperfectum : ergo beatitudo (in sense of final
end) hominis consistit in tota universitate creaturarum." To which
he replies : " Si totum aliquod non sit ultimus finis sed ordinetur ad
finem ulteriorcm, ultimus fin s partis non est ipsum totum s(d aliquid
aliud : univcrsitas autem creaturarum, ad quam comparatur homo
ut pars ad totum, non est finis ultimus, sed ordinatur in Deum sicut
in ullimum finem ; unde bonum universi non est ultimus finis hominis,
sed ipse Deus " (" S. Theol.," I., II., Q. II., Art. 8).

Vol. I 21

322 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

above us all and above society — namely, the Infinite
Good. It may not be out of place to repeat here our
proof of this proposition. The final natural end of any-
thing is the highest end which is attainable by its
highest capacity, or the adequate object of its highest
capacity. Thus, the final natural end of a tree cannot
be mere growth, because the tree has other higher
capacities than growth — for instance, the capacities of
bearing fruit and flower and seed. The highest act of
a tree will be its final end. Now, applyinpt^fi^'^ ppnr.iplp.
to man (the principle, namely, thaTTKe final end of
anything is that end which answers to its highest
capacity), we find that no finite thing can be our final
end, for no finite thing can satisfy our highest appetite
— ^that is, our will, which is capable of desiring the
perfect or Infinite Good. The Infinite Good, therefore,
is the final end of all men, and of the society of men.
Society and the happiness of society are finite things,
and, therefore, the happiness of society or its welfare
cannot be our final end.

But though society and its happiness or welfare are
not man's final end, still we may repeat that man is to
some extent subordinate to society, and that he has
important duties towards society, duties of promoting
the happiness of society. In other words, the happiness
of society, though it is not man's final end, is yet an
end, and a necessary end, which each individual man is
under an obligation to promote according to his oppor-
tunities and his position in society.

(3) That which is naturally destined to attain or
promote any end is means to that end. But a free
person could not be mere means to that end in reference
to which he is free ; and as man is free in reference to
society he cannot be regarded as mere means to society,
and hence society is not his final end.

(4) The natural welKbcing of anything depends upon
the attaining of its ultimate end. But the individual
wcU-bcing is to a laige extent independent of the race ;

ON UTILITARIANISM 323

for even if the rest of the race were perfectly happy,
still the individual, even though he were to devote
himself to promoting the social well-being, might, from
a variety of natural causes, be very miserable and im-
perfect, and therefore his end must be something other
than the mere good of the race.

(5) Another argument which, like that just given,
depends upon a former argument,* but which yet
emphasises a distinct quality in natural morality, is
the following : The natural end of a man's actions con- ^y^
sists in something that must of necessity he actually attained

if the proper means he taken. A tree, for instance, will
reach its final end — viz., it will come to leaf and flower
if all the natural means be taken to that effect, and all
the natural and necessary conditions be fulfilled — e.g., if
it get air enough, light enough, moisture enough, &c.
But no action of men towards one another, or towards
society at large, will ever make society perfectly happy,
since there will always be something to be desired by
society other than the good will or good services of
men. If no finite good can satisfy the individual,
a fortiori no finite good can satisfy society. No means,
therefore, that individuals can take will secure the final
happiness of society. Therefore, the happiness of society
cannot be our natural end.

(6) If the happiness of society be our end, then our
final end is to be attained here below, f We have shown
that this is impossible % — that every condition or dis-
tinguishing mark of the final end is wanting here below.

* We think it only fair to call the attention of the reader to the
fact that, if thoroughly examined, arguments 3, 4, and 5 will be found
to throw us logically back on the argument that all men and all society
are ordained to a common end beyond society — ^namely, the infinite
good. (This is given in 2 above.)

t Hedonists sometimes claim that a man's end lies in the " here-
after," but utilitarians make no such claim. According to utilitarians,
our end is to be attained on earth. Society, of course, may continue
to be a human necessity in heaven, but utilitarians generally do not
contemplate such a thing. For the utilitarian, society means the
society of men here below.

X Chapter 3.

324 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS '

First, the goods of this Hfe cannot fill up the capacity
of our will (quietare appetitum). Secondly, they cannot
be enjoyed without much accompanying evil. Thirdly,
once possessed we are not sure of retaining them.
They may go from us at any moment. For these
reasons no good of this world can be our final end,
for no good of this world can fill up the measure of our
natural capacities, and give that absolute rest (quies)
to our appetites which is essential to the last end.
But the happiness of society is an earthly thing ; it
is finite, and leaves much still to be desired by our
wills — that is, leaves our capacities unfilled ; it is sub-
ject to evil, for on this earth there will always be evil ;
also, it is uncertain and unstable. It cannot, therefore,
be our final end.

(7) There seems to be a strong belief even amongst
utilitarians that it would be illogical to accept the view
that our end is the general happiness unless there be
some proof that this is our end. "It is important to
observe," writes Sidgwick,* " that the principle of
aiming at universal happiness is more genuinely felt to
require some proof, or at least (as Mill puts it) some
considerations determining the mind to accept it, than
the principle of aiming at one's own happiness." If the
individual man is free, if he is to a large extent inde-
pendent of society, if he is capable of desiring much
more, and can only be satisfied with much more than
society is ever capable of giving him, if the happiness
of society cannot satisfy him, if, finally, society, whilst
it accepts his services, will not bear any of the burden
of his, perhaps, undeserved miseries, then it seems
rational that the individual man should have a right
to ask what proof there is that the good of society is
his sole final end, and what proof that he is bound to
make such personal sacrifices for society as this doctrine
of Utilitarianism entails. Now, we submit that this
theory has not been proved. And in support of our

• " Methods," page 418.

ON UTILITARIANISM 325

contention we shall, in the second portion of this
chapter,* set forth and examine the chief arguments
advanced by Utilitarians in defence of their theories.
Meanwhile, we shall examine the utilitarian theory
from a second point of view — that, namely, of its
criterion and its practicability as a science of right
living.

id) ijtilitarianism an impracticable and impossible
^^,^ Criterion of Morality

Having seen that the happiness or welfare of society
is not our final end, we now go on to show that, even
if the happiness of society were our end, we could not
determine with any degree of accuracy what acts would
lead thereto, and that, therefore. Utilitarianism is not a
practical or possible criterion of right and wrong. This
argument need not be drawn out to any length, since
we have already prepared the way for it in our chapter
on Hedonism.

The difficulty of applying the utilitarian criterion to
actual practice turns principally on the fact that on the
utilitarian theory we have to determine quantity of
pleasure or of welfare before we can judge of the
morality of actions ; and this proposition that the
utilitarian must determine quantity of pain or pleasure
is inferred from another proposition — viz., that an
ethical theory that judges by effects merely must de-
termine such quantity, t Now, in a theory that deter-
mines morality by consequences the necessity of quanti-
tatively determining effects must always arise, because
our acts have often most opposed consequences, some
pleasant, some painful, which it is necessary to com-
pare and reduce to a resultant in order to know on
which side the balance is — on that of pleasure or that of

* Section (e).

t That Utilitananifan j ...gcs morality by effects merely is evident
from the very definition vi I'tilitarinri'-ni.

;

326 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

pain, of welfare or of injury. The great difficulty of
the utilitarian theory is the difficulty of determining
these consequences.

Concerning this difficulty of determining the conse-
quences of action we have already spoken in our chapter
on Hedonism, We there showed the impossibility of
calculating the pleasures and the pains which actions
bring to the doer of the action, or of comparing these
pleasures and pains with one another, so as to obtain
the resultant feeling in case we did succeed in summing
them separately. The difficulties arising are many. If
the method followed be the a posteriori method of
experience and common sense then there is (i) the
difficulty of measuring any feeling except the most
intense, (2) the difficulty of knowing all the feelings
which result from actions, (3) of balancing pleasures
against pains, (4) of comparing pleasures with one
another so as to obtain a sum of pleasures, (5) of ex-
amining present pleasures or fully recalling remembered
ones, (6) of saying how far into our lives the influence
of our early acts extends and consequently of determin-
ing all the pleasures and pains these acts produce, (7)
of determining how far our pleasures and our pains
depend on our humours and character, and (8) on the
accidents of life.

On the other hand, if the method followed be a priori,
or what we have called the scientific method — the
method, that is, of deducing the pleasure and pain-
results from some theory of the cause or law of pleasure,
then we have the insuperable difficulty already referred
to of determining the cause of pleasure, and of knowing,
even if we should succeed in determining the cause
of pleasure, when and in what cases this cause is
realised.

Now, if all these are difficulties against the possibility
of calculating the pleasures and pains experienced by
the individual man, the difficulties of determining the
pleasures and pains which actions produce in society at

ON UTILITARIANISM

327

large must be very much greater. To examine our own
feelings is difficult, but to examine the feelings of other
people is more difficult still. Equally difficult is the task
of comparing the pleasures which an act produces in
some with the pains which it brings to others, and of
determining the resultant of these pleasures ind pains.
If, then. Hedonism fails as a criterion of conduct, Utili-
tarianism fails still more signally. Indeed, it is only
when we take up for consideration some particular
action, and try to determine practically its consequences
on society, that we really come to understand the utter
impossibility of using the utilitarian criterion in the
drawing up of a moral code.

But, as in the case of Hedonism so also in the case of
Utilitarianism, there are some who claim that the diffi-
culty of determining the consequences of action is
imaginary, since it depends on the false supposition
that it is necessary to predict the effect of an action
taken in individiw et in concreio, whereas it is only
necessary to determine the tendency of a line of action
in' general, and apart from individual circumstances,
or, which is the same thing, to determine what would
actually happen if such a line of action were allowed in
general. This theory is defended by Whewell, Paley,
and many other utilitarians.

Now, we showed in our chapter on Hedonism that a
theory that regards the goodness and badness of acts as
constituted by the consequences of these acts cannot
logically ignore the effects of the particular act. And
since, according to Utilitarianism, moral good and evil
are constituted by the consequences of acts. Utili-
tarianism must take account of the particular as well as
the general consequences — that is, of the actual effect of
this individual act on society in a particular case, and
not merely the general tendency of such acts to affect
society well or ill, or the effects that would follow if
an act were generally allowed. Consequently, the
difficulty of predicting the effects of individual acts

328 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

applies in the case of Utilitarianism, and hence we
cannot regard the criterion of Utilitarianism as a practical
or reliable criterion of the morality of acts.*

But, now, let us for the moment suppose that the
difficulty of determining the consequences, whether par-
ticular or general, has been overcome, and that we can
predict these consequences with absolute precision.
There will still remain one (to our mind) insuperable
difficulty in regard to the use of the utilitarian criterion
— namely, the difficulty of its consistent application to
moral cases, where the particular and the general
consequences are opposed. We shall explain this diffi-

* Some curious results will be obtained by the consistent utilitarian
who logically works out particular cases by actual results to society, not
by general rules. For instance, granted, as proved above, that a con-
sistent utilitarian must judge in particular cases by actual results, not
by general rules or tendencies, what, following the utilitarian theory,
is a man to do who feels that he can steal from another without making
society unhappy ? The owner will, of course, suffer some unhappiness
in the loss of his money, but the robber gains equally in happiness by
acquiring the money, and if he be a poor man his gain in happiness will
more than counterbalance the actual pain experienced by the rightful
owner. Is the act of stealing lawful in this case ? If an act be lawful
or unlawful because of the pleasure or pain it brings to society, then
since in this case the happiness that is lost in one part of society is
gained in another, it would seem that the effect on society as a whole is
nil, and that, so, the act is neither good nor bad but indifferent, and
therefore morally allowable.

This consideration (we do not call it an argument, for, as we said
before, we do not regard it as either a proof or a disproof of any theory
of morals to show that it is consistent or inconsistent with our code)
may be answered by the utilitarian saying that the general good could
not possibly be promoted unless there existed a law of distribution of
happiness, and the first requisite of proper distribution is that each
man be given and allowed to enjoy " his owri " (Cuique suum), and
that therefore, though the case of moral jugglery we have just given
raises difficulties for a Utilitarianism of our own making, it raises
none for a genuine theory of Utilitarianism which postulates such a
law. Still we submit that this utilitarian reply is not altogether
satisfactory. For we grant that on the utilitarian theory there should
be a general law of distribution — a law to give each his own, if the
general good is to be forwarded. But, nevertheless, we conceive a
case of some individual coming to the utilitarian in the quiet of his
study and claiming to be allowed in this particular case to increase
the sum of general happiness by stealing from his rich master, and on
utilitarian principles we do not know how such a man can be prevented
from stealing.

On this same problem the reader might refer to our account of
Spencer's theory, page 420.

ON UTILITARIANISM 329

culty by an example. Let us suppose a case of murder,
which, on account of the individual circumstances, is
certain to bring a surplusage of happiness to the race
at large (the supposition is quite possible in the case of
persons suffering from certain contagious diseases, whose
death, therefore, would relieve society of much appre-
hension and much evil of every kind). Now, we take
it that no utilitarian would regard such an act as lawful
or good, and his plea for not allowing it is that, in judg-
ing the morality of an act, we should take account
not of the particular but of the general effects — that is,
not the effects of this particular act in these particular
circumstances, but the general tendency of such acts
in regard to society. And we shall allow this argu-
mentation to stand for the moment. But if this be
the law of procedure with regard to the case of con-
tagious diseases, the utilitarian must adopt the very
same law of procedure with regard to every other kind
of evil. Now, lying, all would admit, tends in general
to bring evil consequences to the race. But let us
suppose that a statesman by telling a lie could save the
world from all the horrors of an international war, is
he on the Utilitarian theory free morally to tell a lie
and save the world from certain universal unhappiness ?
A consistent utilitarian should answer " No," since in
the case of leprosy and murder it was the general and
not the particular consequences that determined the
morality of the act, and, as in these cases, so also in the
case of lying, the general consequences are hurtful to
society. We believe, however, that utilitarians generally
would in this case of lying judge by the particular
consequences only, and would not only allow the lie,
but even regard it as morally necessary. But what,
then, about the general tendency of lying ? Is not the
" general tendency " in this case thrown to the winds,
and are not the actual effects of the act in the circum-
stances made the binding rule of conduct ? But this
act is an exception, it will be said. So, we answer, was

33d THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the other act an exception, and so is every act an ex-
ception in which the general tendency is negatived by
the actual circumstances of the case. And if we are
bound to judge by the actual effects in this case, so must
we judge in every case if we would be consistent utili-
tarians.

This difficulty of consistency in the application of the
criterion of Utilitarianism seems to us to be inseparable
from the theory of Utilitarianism, and is by itself alone
convincing, proof of the all-round unworkability of
Utilitarianism as an ethical system.

f («)y Consideration of the Arguments for the Utili-
V_J-^ TARiAN Theory that the Final End of the

Individual is the Happiness or Welfare of

Society

In a previous section we showed that the happiness
or well-being of society is not man's final natural end ;
and we promised, towards the close of that section, to
take up for consideration, later on in the present chapter,
the opposing arguments of the utilitarians. This promise
we now propose to fulfil.

The arguments of the utilitarians may be divided as
follows : First, that derived from Psychology, that in
man there are original benevolent impulses ; secondly,
argument drawn from Hedonism, that the law of seeking
our own good includes the law of seeking the good of
all ; thirdly, argument drawn from the fact that the
moral law is " categorical and objective," and, therefore,
that it concerns the good of the whole race, not a mere
part ; fourthly, argument drawn from the common con-
ception of Morals, which, -it is contended, identifies
" good " with " universal happiness " ; fifthly, argu-
ment drawn from Pragmatism, that Utilitarianism as a
moral theory is found to work ; sixthly, argument
drawn from the theory of the " solidarity of society," the
theory, viz., that the individual is nothing apart from

ON UTlLlTAiRiANiSM 331

society, and is indebted to society for all that he is and
has ; seventhly, argument drawn from the necessity of
Utilitarianism to account for many of our moral in-
tuitions.

(i) Argument drawn from Psychology that in man
there are natural benevolent impulses.

This argument is essentially a theory that there are
in us original impulses which have for their object the
good of others, not the good of determined persons
merely, but of all men. , Being original, or given to man
by nature, the claims which these benevolent impulses
make upon us, it is asserted, should be observed in all
our acts, and, therefore, they make it our duty in every
act to seek the general good. It is not, indeed, asserted
that these impulses comprise our whole appetitive nature
as men, for it is agreed that we have in us selfish im-
pulses as well. Shaftesbury, for instance, considered
that the benevolent impulses should even be tempered
by the selfish, and an equilibrium of impulse be secured
thereby. But utilitarians generally infer from the
presence of these benevolent impulses a duty in all our
actions to seek the good of all — the individual himself
counting as only one amongst the total number of
men.

Reply — We have to consider two points — {a) Granted
these impulses, what is the ethical conclusion they
necessitate ? {h) Are our benevolent impulses original,
or are they derivatives from the impulse for our own
happiness ? — for if they are offshoots or derivatives from
the impulse for our own happiness, then the impulse to
our own happiness will be more fundamental than the
impulse of benevolence, and the final end of man will
be not the good of society but a man's own good.*

* We must keep before the reader that we still admit a large smd
important duty of benevolence.

332 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(a) We maintain that even if we have in us original
benevolent impulses, the largest duty that these impulses
could give rise to would be a particular duty of benevo-
lence. They could not determine the whole moral law
for us. If we have selfish impulses as well, then these
should also determine part of our duty. Hence, even if
we have benevolent impulses, our sole final end would
not be necessarily the general happiness or welfare.
But, it will be said, the benevolent impulses relate to
the good of all and the selfish to the good of one man
only, and two such impulses would not be properly
balanced unless we sought our own good as a part
merely of the general happiness. Our reply is that this
contention might be allowed did not the impulse for
our own good outweigh all the other impulses. And
that it does outweigh all others is evident from the
fact that in every act we must wish our own good,
whereas it is rarely that the benevolent impulses assert
themselves within us. Our benevolent impulses have
no part, for instance, in inducing us to eat or drink or
study mathematics. Hence, the impulse for our' own
good is of more importance in the constitution of man
than that of benevolence,* and, therefore, the presence
of benevolent impulses in us does not prove that the
general happiness is our final end.

[b) But now we shall show by another argument
that our benevolent impulses are naturally far out-
weighed by that for our own good. Our argument is
that our benevolent impulses are not original and un-
derived, but are merely a natural offshoot from our de-
sire for our own good. There is in the will but one
original natural impulse — viz., the impulse of the will
to the attainment of its natural object — our own good.

• The importance of this desire for our own good is brought out by
St. Thomas Aquinas in " S. Theol.," II., IT""., Q. 26, A. (>, wlicre he
says, sfxJHking of tlic love of other men, that we should love more
^tensely those who are near to us than those who are near to God — a
remarkable admission from St. Thomas Aquinas.

ON UTILITARIANISM 333

On this love of our own good is based every other im-
pulse of our will. We may, if we like, call this desire
selfish in the sense that it is always a desire for our
own good. But whether we regard it as selfish or not,
on it is based every other desire of the will. Now, this
law that we must desire our own good is by no means
to be interpreted as meaning that we cannot desire the
good of others. On the contrary, " our own good "
may be sought in another person. Our own good may
consist in seeking the good of another, not in the sense
that we may make another's happiness a means to our
own, but in the sense that we can come to regard
another's happiness as our own, and this power of
regarding the happiness of another person as our own
is the root and principle of benevolence. How the love
of one's own good comes to take the form of benevolence
is one of the most interesting problems in philosophy.
It has been fully treated by St. Thomas Aquinas, follow*
ing Aristotle.

A man, according to St. Thomas, may love others
with either of two kinds of love — either the amor con-
cupiscentiae * or the amor amicitiae. In amor concupi-
scentiae we love a thing or a person on account of some
advantage accruing to ourselves ; for instance, we may
love a ruler because he is kind to us. In amor amicitiae
we love a person for his own sake alone. Plainly,
benevolence is the love of the second kind, and it is
with this amor amicitiae and benevolence that we are
now concerned in this present section. On what is
this love of benevolence based ? "A man," writes
St. Thomas, " is never said to be friendly towards him-
self. He is related to himself by something deeper than
friendship. By friendship we effect a union with other
people. But a man's relation to himself is something
deeper than union — it is a relation of unity itself, and
unity is deeper than union — it is even the principle of

* The expression is technical. It must not be supposed to imply
necessarily a sensual element in desire.

334 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

union. And as unity is the principle of union,* so is
the love of one's self the principle and root of friendship.
A man is said to be friendly to others, just in so far
forth as his attitude towards them is the same as his attitude
to himself. As Aristotle says in 9^ Ethic, ' things
appertaining to others — that is, to friendship — are
grounded on that which appertains to the love of one's
self" ("S. TheoL," IP., IP., XXV.). The love,
therefore, of one's own good is, according to St. Thomas
and Aristotle, the root of benevolence, as it is of every
other human impulse.

But we certainly cannot stop at this. We must go
farther and explain how benevolence can be grounded
in the love of one's own good, how from self-love as root
we may obtain the flower — benevolence. The question
can be put in the form of a difficulty thus : In every act
we must seek our own good ; how, then, can we seek
the good of others for their own sakes alone, and in
particular how can this second desire be grounded on
the first ? Now, there would be no difficulty in ex-
plaining this if, instead of benevolence, we had to deal
with the amor concupiscentiae merely — that is, loving
a man because he is good to us, for in the love of self
is contained the love of others as they minister to one's
self. But it seems hard to get from the love of one's
own good to benevolence, which is the love of some
one for his own sake (or, which is the same thing, the
wishing of good to another for his own sake) alone.
Still, the transition is possible, and as effected by St.
Thomas, following Aristotle, it is highly interesting and

• Sidgwick writes : " Love is not merely a desire to do good to the
object beloved, although it always involves such a desire. It is
primarily a pleasurable emotion, which seems to depend on a certain
sense of union with another person " (" Methods," 244). Sidgwick
finds great difficulty in saying whether intense love for an individual
is a moral excellence in sense of a benevolent motive, but he inclines
to the negative view. Whether he is rij^lit in this \\v sluiU not now
inquire, but the fact is, these very intense loves are very often not
examples of amor amicitiae but of amor concupiscentiae, and that is
why they arc often not benevolent.

ON UTILITARIANISM 335

worthy of St. Thomas.* It is made to depend upon
the fundamental natural principle of union between
one man and another — viz., our common human nature.
We are all, according to St. Thomas, like one another in
our human nature — we are one in human nature, and
we differ only in individual characteristics. On that
account we are able mentally to put another man in our _
I own -place and wish him good as we would wish it to our-
selves. This is the root of benevolence. In benevolence
I do not love another as another, because for that it
would be necessary to keep my neighbour apart mentally
from me, to regard his good as quite a distinct thing
from mine. Rather I put him in my own place on
account of his likeness to me, make of him an alter ego,
regard him as one with myself, and wish him well ac-
cordingly. Again, we quote from St. Thomas (P., 11".,
XXVII., 3) — " All benevolence is grounded in likeness.f
Two men that have the same form are one in that form,
and all men are one in their humanity. A man's love,
therefore, goes out to another, in so far as that other
is one with himself, and he will consequently wish good
to that other, in the same way as he wishes it to himself."
Likeness to ourselves, therefore, is the root of friend-
ship (" omne amans amat sibi simile ") — of friendship in
its best sense — that is, as benevolence. Benevolence is
the wishing of good to another for his own sake, not for
mine, and this wish I can entertain in spite of the fact
that benevolence begins in the love of my own good.
For, as we have said, in benevolence I put another in
my place for the moment, who then becomes my alter
ego ; and consequently I can wish him good in the
same way as I wish it to myself. In benevolence,
therefore, the love of self is not extinguished — it is

* It is not a doctrine for shallow minds. They will be sure to
misunderstand it.

f It should be remembered that that which benevolence loves in
another must be something which a man esteems. Else the benevolent
lazy man could love only lazy men, and benevolent bad men only bad
people (see Aristotle, " Nich. Eth.," IX., 5 (4)).

336 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

rather made to expand, so as to embrace all persons,
whom, therefore, we treat as we would treat ourselves.
This is the highest love possible — to treat another aS'
we would treat ourselves. It is not egoistic, for through
I it we desire another's pleasure, not our own personal
pleasure. It is not the amor concupiscentiae, for by it
we wish another well, not for our own sake, but for
his. It is pure benevolence. In amor concupiscentiae
I wish another good as means to myself, and, therefore,
as distinct from myself. In benevolence I put another
man in my own place and make his " good " mine. In
the first the " thine " is distinct from the " mine: " in
the second the " thine " is the " mine." *

* Of modern Ethicians none comes closer to St, Thomas Aquinas
in his analysis of benevolence than Leslie Stephen. He gives us as
the rule of benevolence to another — " Put yourself in his place "
(" Science of Ethics," page 230). Again he writes, " So far as I sym-
pathise with you I annex your consciousness. I act as though my
nerves could somehow be made continuous with yours " (page 236).
And lest this statement should be taken to mean that I sympathise
with your pain because your pain brings as a consequence pain to
me (as distinct from you), he expressly repudiates this interpretation
(page 240). The theory which identifies benevolence with regarding
another as an alter ego is also making headway amongst French
Ethicians. Thus Fouill6e, in his account of the Evolutionist Ethics
(in " La Morale Contemporaine "), regards sympathy as arising out
of the common consciousness of different individuals who are " frferes
siamois par la tete et par le coeur," and he mentions the Darwinian
interpretation of self-sacrifice as resulting from the fact that " les
deux poles, moi et toi, sont intervertis."

The reader in considering special cases of love or kindness should be
careful to distinguish where the love is amor concupiscentiae and where
it is amor amicitiae or benevolence, for it is not always easy to dis-
tinguish between them. They often exist in the same mind and
towards the same person. Thus, to take some special cases, a person
with qualities that arc attractive to a man may be loved by that man.
Such love as based on such qualities is generally the amor concupiscen-
tiae. Now, amor concupiscentiae is a good and a useful thing ; but it
is not benevolence, A man loves such a person as he loves a beautiful
scene or food — they bring him pleasure. But the same person may
be loved amore amicitiae, i.e., a man may desire good to him for his
own sake. Such amor amicitiae or benevolence is based, not on some
, special attractive qualities in the person, but upon a likeness to him
who loves. Thus a father who loves his two children benevolently,
loves them equally, though one be handsomer and more attractive
than the other, liut if he prefers the more attractive child tins pre-
ference is based, not on benevolence, but on the amor concupiscentiae ;
for it is a preference based on the pleasure given to himself, and it is
the same kind of preference that is given by men to certain kinds of

ON UTILITARIANISM 337

From all this we draw an important conclusion — the
only one, indeed, that has any bearing on our present
enquiry — viz., that benevolence is not an original
impulse in man. On the contrary, benevolence is a
i derivative from self-love in the sense of the love of
one's own good. It is, indeed, different from self-love,
but it could no more exist without self-love than the
fruit could grow without the tree. Consequently, the
impulse to our own good is, in the order of nature,
more fundamental than that to the good of the race,
and, therefore, the good of the race cannot be our final
natural end.

And what we say of benevolence we say also of pity
— pity is also based on self-love. Pity is benevolence
towards those in sorrow, and, again, its root is likeness
to ourselves. " Pity," writes St. Thomas, " is compas-
sion for the misery of another, and arises from the
fact that we are pained or sorrowful at another's pain.
But inasmuch as sorrow relates (properly) only to (the
loss of) our own good, so a man can be sorrowful at
another's misery only in so far as he regards that other's
misery as his own " (IP., IP., XXX., 2).

A superficial view of these doctrines of St. Thomas
about benevolence and pity might induce one to think
that in grounding them on self-love he had lowered
the standard both of friendship and of pity. Maturer
thought, however, will reveal the opposite. There is no
higher friendship than that which makes me regard my

food or wine, m which cases there is always some reference to the
pleasure which the presence or possession of the object gives to the
individual who loves. Granted then an equal degree of likeness
between the objects loved and him who loves, pure benevolence
begets equal love. Where a father's love is one of pure benevolence
he loves all his children equally, because their likeness to him — that
is, their family connection with him — is equal. Where patriotism is
purely benevolent one loves all his countrymen with an equal love,
for the bond is the same with all. Where the love of humanity is
benevolent all men are loved to the same extent, for the only bond is
that of human nature.

The clearest example of benevolence is that which makes us love
a poor man who has no attractions for us — a kind of love which is very
different from our love for attractive people or for beautiful objects.
Vol. I — 22

338

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

friend as an alter ego ; there is no. deeper pity than that
which makes me regard another's sorrow as my own.*

Pity, then, like benevolence, is not original ; it is a
derivative (but a natural derivative) from the love of
one's own good. Hence, we see — if we may be allowed
to carry this question a little outside the region of
Ethics — how wrong Martineau is when he tells us that

* Schopenhauer (" The Basis of Morals," III., i6) gives an analysis
of pity which reads like a page from St Thomas Aquinas. " In these
moments (of pity)," he writes, " the line of demarcation which
separates one being from another seems to disappear — the non-ego
to a certain extent becomes the ego." In order, however, to avoid
the semblance of egoism, he then, it seems to us, goes too far on the
other side, saying that in pity I do not imagine the grief of the afflicted
person to be my own, rather I imagine myself as happy, and contrast
my happiness with his grief. In pity my neighbour's sorrow is imagined
as his, and my pity is all the greater — the greater, by way of contrast,
my personal joy. Wundt also holds the same extreme altruistic
view. In pity " we do not take on the sorrow of another," he says,
" and make it our own, because there could be no greater difference
between any two states than that which we know to subsist between
the hunger of the hungry man and the pity of one who wishes to relieve
him " (Ethik).

In contrast with this view of Schopenhauer and Wundt, there are
some modem theories which are wholly Egoistic — which, therefore,
though thej' are in some respects akin to the theory of Aristotle and
St. Thomas, yet must be carefully distinguished from this latter
theory because according to these latter pity is wholly benevolent ; it
rests on the amor amicitiae. .it is wholly a movement towards another's
good (and for that other's sake) whose interest I yet regard as my own
(as said above I make of that other an alter ego). On the other hand,
the Egoistic theories, to which we refer now, make pity end in one's
self alone. According to them, pity springs from the amor concupiscen'
tiae, or the love of another as means merely to our own happiness.
On this theory, could we ourselves get the same happiness that we
now get, without the happiness of the other, both that other and his
interest would be disregarded by us. He is loved, therefore, not for
bis own sake, but for ours as distinct from him.

Bain enumerates four such egoistic theories : (i) The theory that
we love or pity because we expect to obtain an immediate reward
fully equivalent to the sacrifice made. This reward may be in kind
or not (vide Mandeville, who regards flattery as the principal reward
looked to), {2) In pity we are pained at the sight of an object in
distress, and give assistance in order to relieve ourselves of the pain
(Hobbcs). (3) We are moved to benevolence by an intrinsic pleasure
— i.e., by the pleasure it causes in us — and we are moved in order to
cx{x;rience that pleasure (Bcntham). (4) Benevolent impulses are at
first purely selfish (we love and pity at first in order to get pleasure
for ourselves), but tliey lx.'Come purely benevolent later on " by
associations and habits " (James Mill and Mackintosh). These
theories are evidently distinct from the view expressed by St. Thomas
Aquinas. They are in no sense theories of pure benevolence.

ON UTILITARIANISM 339

sympathy with suffering is so grounded in our nature —
i.e., is so original and underived in our constitution —
that "in it we find an impressive proof that pain and
sorrow are not mere uncontemplated anomalies, arising
by way of disorder outside the idea and scheme of things,
but are embraced within a plan of human life and
distinctly provided for in human nature." " That our
constitution," he adds, " is furnished with this medicine
of ill indicates a system constructed, so to speak, on a
theory of sorrow, and assigning to it a deliberate place
as a perpetual element of discipline, as natural and not
unnatural " (" Types," Vol. XL). In this passage
Martineau takes it for granted that nature furnishes
every man originally with a special impulse of pity or
sympathy, from which he draws the conclusion that
sorrow, and therefore evil, are a necessary part of the
original scheme of nature. But we have shown that
there is in us originally and fundamentally no such
medicine of ill. Pity, like benevolence, is a derived
I impulse, naturally derived, but yet derived. In the
will there is but one original underived impulse — namely,
our love for our own good.

(2) Argument drawn from Hedonism.

Utilitarians argue from Ethical Hedonism — that is,
from happiness — as the supposed end of man. They
extend this theory from the happiness of the individual
to the happiness of all men, which latter happiness then
becomes the natural end of the individual. They offer
two proofs drawn from Hedonism for their theory of
the happiness of all men as the Ethical end of the
individual. The first proof is Mill's rather obsolete
argument, that if each man's happiness is the end of
each, then all men's happiness is the end of all, and,i
therefore, all men's happiness is the end of each. His
words are — " each person's happiness is a good to that
person ; and the general happiness, therefore (is), a
good to the aggregate of all persons," which latter pro-

340 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

position Mill henceforth treats as equal to — the general
\ happiness is a good to each person. The second is the
argument used by Sidgwick, Rashdall, and others, that
if " his own " pleasure be not only an end to every man
but the right end for every man, an end that he ought
to pursue, then pleasure gets a value on its own account
objectively, and would be approved of by an Impartial
Reason — that, therefore, the words " his own " could
no longer be considered necessary in the statement that
pleasure is the end', that we are thus led to the con-
clusion that " pleasure (not ' his own ' pleasure) is the
end " — and that having in this way got rid of the
limitation implied in the words " his own," the law
of morals naturally announces itself thus — seek pleasure,
and as much of it as can be had, or, seek all men's
pleasure.

We shall now examine these two arguments.

Mill's Argument. — ^The argument used by Mill is a
plain sophism which it will not be necessary to consider
at any length here. It simply uses the collective sense
of the word " every " (that is, " all together ") as
equivalent to, and, therefore, interchangeable with, the
distributive sense [i.e., each one separately). Mill's
first proposition is that each man's happiness is the
end of each, which means that " his own " happiness is
the end of each. His second proposition (which he
regards as a consequence * of the first) is that " all
men's happiness is the end of all." This means that
the whole body of men in their collective capacity
{i.e., society) should seek the general happiness. The
third proposition, which is supposed to result from the
second, or to be the equivalent of the second, is that
each member of society ought to seek tke general good
or the good of all collectively. Now, to infer this third
proposition from the second, or to regard them as
identical, is plainly an example of the fallacy of Com-

• This first inference might very well be questioned, but for our
pment purpose it is not necessary to do so.

ON UTILITARIANISM 341

position, of which we could give many instances exactly
similar in form to Mill's argument. Such a similar
instance is the argument that if a hundred men have a
hundred heads, therefore each man of the hundred has
a hundred heads, an inference the validity of which it
will not be necessary to disprove.

The second (Sidgwick's) argument requires a some-
what closer examination, not because it is less sophistic
than Mill's, but because it has been so strangely stated
that it is hard to find the sequence of it and to show
wherein its fallaciousness consists. We shall first quote
the argument as given by Sidgwick and Professor
Rashdall, and then attempt to set it forth clearly in
our own words.

Sidgwick writes * : —

" When, however, the Egoist puts for\vard implicitly or
explicitly the proposition that his happiness or pleasure is
good not only for him, but from the point of view of the Universe
— as, e.g., by saying that nature designed him to seek his own
happiness — it then becomes relevant to point out to him that
his happiness cannot be a more important part of Good taken
universally than the equal happiness of any other person. And
thus starting with his own principle he may be brought to
accept Universal happiness or pleasure as that which is
absolutely and without qualification Good or Desirable : as
an end therefore to which the action of a reasonable agent
as such ought to be directed."

And Professor Rashdall writes j : —

" He (the Egoist) declares not merely that pleasure is his J
object, but that pleasure is the only reasonable object of

* " Methods," page 420. In the last chapter of his " Methods "
Sidgwick himself seems to us to express a want of confidence in th^
above line of argument, for he insinuates that it does not amount to
what is properly a " proof " of Utilitarianism. Yet, in an earlier
chapter, he seems confident enough about its validity.

t " Theory of Good and Evil," Vol. I., page 44.

{ All the italics in the above quotation are ours, except the first,
which is Prof. Rashdall's own. We have italicised those phrases
which seem to us to be the turning points in the argument — i.e., the
points of transition from Egoism to Universalism.

342 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

desire, that every reasonable man must agree with him in
thinking that his own pleasure is to each the only proper
object of pursuit, that anyone who pursues any other aim
is unreasonable and makes a mistake. And when that
attitude is adopted it becomes possible to urge that he is
implicitly appeahng to a universal standard which must be
the same for all men* The pursuit of pleasure f is approved,
not merely because it chances to be the end that he prefers,
but because it is in some sense the true end, the end that
ought to be pursued. The champion of pleasure may indeed
contend that the Universal Rule which Reason approves is
not that pleasure in general ought to be pursued, but that
each man should pursue his own pleasure. J But an Egoistic
Hedonist of this type is liable to be asked on what ground an
impartial or impersonal Reason should take up this position.^
He may be asked whether when he condemns the pursuit of
ends other than pleasure ij he does not imply that the claims
of this end ^\ are dependent not upon the individual's chance
likings but upon something in pleasure itself** something

* This sentence has no connection with what goes before (it is
meant to be a conclusion from what goes before), unless it means —
all men agree that " his own " pleasure is the proper end for each man,
and to that universal opinion we appeal for our theory that each man
must seek his own happiness only — and to pursue any other aim, as
is said above, is unreasonable.

t Here Prof. Rashdall has let drop the words " his own " before
" pleasure." He should not have done so if the sequence of the argu-
ment is to be maintained. Of course Prof. Rashdall must mean " his
own pleasure " at this point, but it would be better to say so on account
of the nature of the matter in dispute.

J The logician, whether a champion of pleasure or not, does not
say so ; he merely says that if there is to be sequence in the argument
then " pleasure " cannot be used as equivalent exactly to " his own
pleasure," and that we should not let drop " his own " without saying
why. Up to this the only " pleasure " that preserves the logical
.sequence is " his own pleasure." If Prof. Rashdall lets drop the
words " his own " without giving reasons, he has abandoned his line
of argument, and has begun merely to make disconnected assertions.

§ Because this was the point reached in the argument above, and
beyond this we did not get — " every rea.sonable man must agree with
him in thinking that his own pleasure is to each," &c.

II The Egoistic Hedonist admits only one pleasure, i.e., " his own "
pleasure. This must be understood in the text above if the sequence
of the argument is to be maintained.

^ i.e., " his own pleasure."

•♦ The Egoist did not assert that " pleasure " was the end, but that
" his own " pleasure was the end ; and on Prof. Raslulall's own con-
fession, all men are agreed, or the Universal Kea.son is juTsuadcd, that
that is the only and proper end. The Hedonist, therefore, is only
logically bound to admit that it is " something in one's own pleasure "
itself, &c.

ON UTILITARIANISM 343

which Reason discerns in it, and which every Reason that
really is Reason must likewise discern in it. And if that is
so, he may further be asked why Reason should attach more
importance to one man's pleasure than to another's* If it is
pleasure that is the end it cannot matter, it may be urged,
whose pleasure it is that is promoted. f The greatest pleasure J
mtist always be preferable to the less pleasure, even though
the promotion of the greatest pleasure on the whole should
demand that this or that individual should sacrifice some of
his private pleasure. From this point of view it will seem
impossible that Reason should approve the universal rule
that each should pursue his private pleasure with the result
of losing pleasure on the whole. The rational rule of con-
duct will appear to be that each individual should aim at
the greatest pleasure on the whole, § and that when a greater
pleasure for the whole can be procured by the sacrifice of an
individual's private pleasure, the sacrifice should be made.
The Egoists' appeal to Reason |! — the setting up of Egoism 1j
as an objectively rational rule of conduct, the condemnation
as irrational of those who pursue any other end ** — seems
therefoie to react against his own position. ff The logic of

• For the purposes of valid reasoning, that is all. Prof. Rashdall
has undertaken to prove Utilitarianism. It is of importance, therefore,
that he should give the full term each time a term occurs. The question
is not whether one man's happiness is more important than another's,
but whether, in the course of the argument, we have as yet got away
logically from that annoying particle " his own." If the present argu-
ment is not to be regarded as a logical proof of Utilitarianism, if the
Hedonist is simply being asked to prove something himself — namely,
to prove his theory, or to give reasons why one man's happiness is
more important than another's, it would be better to say so ; but Prof.
Rashdall has evidently undertaken to prove the Universalistic theory,
granted the Egoistic, and we expect him to keep up the logical sequence
of his argument.

I This may be quite true, but, if the above argument has any
weight, it matters much that when " his own pleasure " is stated to be
the only reasonable end for the individual, " his own " should not be
let fall out without our being told why.

J i.e., the greatest amount of " his own " pleasure, if " his own "
pleasure be the only reasonable end.

S i.e., " his own " greatest pleasure on the whole, if, we repeat,
" his own " pleasure be the only reasonable end.

I! As above, an appeal to Reason to declare " one's own pleasure "
the only reasonable end, a declaration which, as Prof. Rashdall him-
self admits. Reason makes.

^ Egoism in sense of " one's own pleasure."

♦* " Than their own pleasure " — i.e., to each " his own " pleasure.

tt How ?

344 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the egoistic Hedonist's position carries him away from
egoistic Hedonism and forces him into the adoption of a
Universahstic Hedonism." *

Now, both these writers are here attempting to build
a bridge between egoistic and universahstic Hedonism.
The points of transition from the Individual happiness
to the happiness of all aie clearly shown in the words
of Professor Sidgwick, italicised by us (" but from the
point of view of the Universe "), and also in the italicised
passages in Professor Rashdall's statement. The aim
of the transition in both cases is to get rid of the element
" his own " in that principle of the Egoist — " to each
his own happiness is an end," and, as a means to this
elimination of " his own," each writer appeals to the
fact that " his own pleasure " being a good and right
end to the individual, an end that he ought to pursue,
it is as a consequence an end which would be approved
by " the whole world " or the " Universal Reason " or
an " impartial Reason," and in that way, since an
impartial Reason cannot be more interested in me than
in others, pleasure becomes an end with a purely ob-
jective value — i.e., it gains a value apart from its rela-
tion to the individual altogether ; and, therefore, having
a value distinct from the individual, it ought to be
pursued irrespectively of its being owned by any person
in particular. On this theory, as long as an end is
approved of by the individual alone (for example, sweets
or fruits or other such ends), as long as the goodness of
these things consists in the fact that it is only I who
wish them, so long the Universal or Impartial Reason
has nothing to say to these ends, and so long they have
merely a subjective value (a value for mc) not an ob-

• Not as long as the Hedonist emphasises that annoying particle
" his own." Tlic reader must not consider that in following the
argument almost word by word we have taken a narrow view of it,
or have sacrificed the spirit of the argument to the letter We have
called attention to the details of the argument because it was necessary
to do so in order to guard against a subtle fallacy which could only
creep in under cover ot words

ON UTILITARIANISM 345

jective value. But when the Impartial Reason approves
of an end (and the Impartial Reason will approve of
an end whenever the value of that end consists in some-
thing other than the mere fact of its being desired by
me — for instance, when it consists in the fact that a
certain end is necessary to me, or that nature has given
me an impulse to it) then, since, as we have said, an
impartial Reason has no special interest in any indi-
vidual, that end comes to be of value on its own ac-
count, as disassociated from " me " and then the
element " his own " can be allowed to drop out. For
utilitarians of this school, therefore, " pleasure " and
not " one's own pleasure " becomes the end, and our
highest end must, accordingly, be the greatest quantity
of pleasure, or the pleasure of all men.

We think this as fair a statement of the argument as
can be given. But with a plain statement of it the
sophism it contains stands out as plainly as in Mill's
argument. In the present argument the transition from
the happiness of the individual to the happiness of all
is effected either {a) through the assertion that the
universal or Impartial Reason approves of the end, or
(6) through the proposition that the end has a value
in and for itself, {a) The consequence in the first of
these assertions may be illustrated by an analogy — the
analogy of a sick man and his medicine. The doctor
orders medicine for the sick man (" his own " medicine
— i.e., a medicine specially compounded for this patient).
This medicine is prescribed not because the patient has
taken a liking to it — our point is that it is prescribed
because it is necessary for him, and that, therefore, it is
an end which an Impartial or Universal Reason would
quite approve of. Yet, this medicine does not thereby
acquire a value which is purely objective, a value in
and for itself without reference to the individual. The
element " his own " does not cease to have its proper
value in consequence of this Universal approval, nor
does the law henceforth become for the patient — seek.

346 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

not " your own " medicine, but all men's medicines and
your own as just one amongst the number. The ex-
pression " his own " can never become detached from
that prescription. It is as his own that the medicine
is prescribed for him, and it is as " his own " that the
Impartial Reason approves of it, and only as " his own "
is it desirable and to be given to him. This analogy
may not be perfect — omnis comparatio claudicat — but
it will help to bring out our meaning. If the law of
Egoistic Hedonism be — " seek your own pleasure " ;
or — " your own pleasure is a good," and if Reason
approves of what is an end to me by a law of nature —
viz., " my own pleasure " — then nothing can remove
these qualifications indicated in the expression " my
own," whether the approving Reason be partial or
impartial, particular or universal. The Utilitarian
might, indeed, find other arguments to show that the
impartial Reason approves of the general happiness.
But he cannot establish it from Egoism. Beginning
with Egoism, then, there is simply no way open to " the
general happiness as end of the individual," for, from
the very start, the qualification " his own " attaches to
the pleasure, and makes impossible the transition to
Universalism. (6) Again, if we take as the point of
transition the words " of value in and for itself," we
have once more the same evident fallacy. If " my own
pleasure " is a natural end of action, if it is the end
which we ought to pursue (as Rashdall himself confesses),
then it is " my own pleasure," and not " pleasure in the
abstract," that gets a " value in and for itself," and no
amount of shuffling of the cards can get rid of this con-
dition which Egoistic Hedonism affixes from the very
start, and which reappears at every turn — the condition
of " personal reference " expressed in the words " one's
own " pleasure. If we do not begin with that we are
not beginning with Egoistic Hedonism, and then Pro-
fessor Rashdall 's words are meaningless. If we do
begin with that, tjie condition " my own " remains to

ON UTILITARIANISM 547

the end, and then Universalistic Hedonism is in very
terms excluded.*

Having thus shown the weakness of the Utilitarian
inference from Egoism to Universalism, it remains to
point out that our criticism of this argument does not
affect Aristotle's reasoning, which builds not Utili-
tarianism, indeed, but, at least, benevolence on the
fact that every man desires his own good. For Aris-
totle's argument differs toto coelo from that of Sidgwick
and Professor Rashdall, and the difference lies not in
the result of the arguments merely, the one leading to
a duty of benevolence, the other to Utilitarianism, but
in the logical value of the respective arguments. For,
whereas Aristotle and St. Thomas Aquinas recognise
that any end that I may wish is "my" good both before
and after the transition to benevolence (the " my "
never disappearing, but simply expanding so as to em-
brace all men through their union with me), the other
two writers seek to get away from this reference to the
individual's pleasure altogether, or to represent it as
only one amongst a million pleasures, other people's
pleasures being distinct from mine, and equal to mine.
That, we have shown to be impossible. From Egoism
to benevolence there is, we believe, but one way open
— that indicated in St. Thomas' argument, which bases
benevolence on the likeness men bear to one another in
their nature, and their being one in that nature.

Before concluding this section it may be well to point
out that the same fallacy that we have just exposed in

• Prof Rashdall p¥ts the argument from Egoistic Hedonism in
many other ways without, to our mind, increasing its force. He writes,
for instance (page 46) — " The very principle upon which (men's) own
preference of pleasure to all other objects of desire rests seems to put
them under the necessity of approving a similar end for other people.
How, then, can they condemn in themselves an impulse which tends
towards the realisation of that end for others ? " We answer, we
don't condemn such an impulse, but we deny that the natural desire
which each man has for his own pleasure leads of necessity to his
making other people's pleasure an end to be striven for by himself.
It does lead to our recognising that other people's pleasure is an end
to them and to be striven for by them, as mine is an end to me, and to
be striven for by me.

348 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Sidgwick's argument is found also in other forms of
the Utilitarian argument — for instance, in the argument
that as pleasure is our natural end, our highest end must
be the sum of all pleasures — i.e., the maximum pleasure
of all. Our reply is — If " his own " pleasure be the
natural and constant end of the individual (and there is
no other constant pleasure-end) his highest end will be
the maximum of " his own " pleasure, not that of other
men — just as, if my aim be my own bodily exercise, my
highest aim will be the best bodily exercise that I can
get, not the best or greatest exercise of other people.

We have drawn this argument out at length because
of the importance it has assumed in recent utilitarian
literature.

(3) Argument drawn from the moral good as categorical
and objective.

Many modern writers (particularly the German
ethicians) seek to prove that the good of humanity
is the only moral end, and is, therefore, the final end
of the individual, by reasoning from [a) the categorical
and absolute nature of the moral law, the only absolute
value in nature being, according to these writers, the
good of humanity as a whole, the good of the individual
being conditional only — that is, referrable to the good of
the whole ; or, on the other hand, by reasoning from
{h) the " objective " value of the moral good — the mere
individual good is, in this theory, of value only for the
individual man, and therefore (as we shall presently
explain) it is not objective because not universal.

Reply — {a) This theory is met by principles estab-
lished by us in our second chapter — the principles,
namely, that the Infinite Good is the natural final end
of the individual man, and that this end is of value
on its own account (absolutely), and not merely as a
means to something else (conditionally). The end of
the individual man is, therefore, a categorical good.

ON UTILITARIANISM 349

Consequently, it is not true that the only absolute and
categorical good is the good of humanity as a whole.

Again, this theory is built on the supposition that the
individual is a mere part of society. Now, we admit
that if the individual man were nothing more than a
portion of society, and if he had no end apart from
society, then society would be the only thing of absolute
value to him. We might, then, like these Ethicians
whom we are now considering, compare the individual
to the human arm, the value of which is conditional —
that is, its value depends upon its being part of the
whole body. But the individual man is not a mere part
of society, and independently of society he has his own
ends, and particularly his own final end.* Society is
not his final end. And, therefore, the final good of the
individual, though an individual good, can be yet a
good of absolute value.

[b) Our principles regarding the ends of our natural
faculties dispose of the second argument above — that
the objectivity of the moral good lies in its being the
good of all men. For we have shown that the natural
ends of all natural faculties are real and objective.
We showed especially that the end of our wills — the
perfect or infinite Good — is real ; and on this infinite
Good as our final end, and on the other natural objects
of our faculties, is based the reality or objectivity of
the moral law. It is not true, then, that the only
objective good is the good of all men.

Moreover, there is nothing (either moral good or
anything else) whose " reality " or " objectivity " con-
sists in being " valued " by all men. The theory that
places the reality or objectivity of moral good, in its
being valued by all men, is based on the Kantian
doctrine that " Objectivity " and " Universality " (or

* As St. Thomas writes : "If the whole of which anything is a
part, is not (its own) final end, but is referred to some still further end,
then the ultimate end of the part will be that other thing (to which
the whole system is referred), and not the whole of which it is a part "
(" S. Theol.," I., II., Q. II., Art. 8).

350 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the fact that a thing is an object for all men) are one.
This doctrine we cannot accept. A thing might be
objectively real even though I alone perceived it, and a
thing might be of objective value even though I alone
desired it. Universality, then, and objectivity are not
one either in the theoretical or in the practical sphere.
An object might, we say, exist, though I alone perceived
it. An end may be objective even though I alone desire
it ; and, therefore, the individual good may be objective
and a moral good. The good of the individual, there-
fore, may be as categorically necessary and as objective
as the good of the race, and hence the moral law is not
grounded necessarily upon the idea of the racial good.

(4) Argument drawn from the common conception of
morals.

This argument is two-fold in form.

(a) Bain writes : "By far the greater part of the
morality " (he means moral laws and institutions and
opinions) " of every age and country has reference to
the welfare of society. Even in the most superstitious,
sentimental, and capricious despotisms a very large
share of the enactments, political and moral, consist in
. . . securing justice between man and man. ... Of
the ten commandments four pertain to Religious
worship, six are Utilitarian — that is, have no end
^except to ward off evils and to further the good of
mankind." ♦ The drift of this argument is that since
most of men's thought about morals is taken up with
' the good of society, the good of society must be the
essential element in morals.

(6) Gizycki f adopts the same argument, but he
modifies it by adding to it the idea of evolution in
moral ideas. The following is a short statement of his

• " Moral Science," page 442.

t " Introduction to the Study of Ethics," page 5. We have already
•aid tliat the " end," according to Gizycki, consists in holiness of will or
peace of conscience, but this end, he declares, is promoted by action
tor the good of others

ON UTILITARIANISM 351

theory on this point : Moral ideas have developed, and
development brings with it greater truth. But develop-
ment in human action has been wholly in the direction
of a greater and greater sympathy with the woild at
large. Hence the truth lies in the direction of tJni-
versalism. In the beginning an act was considered
morally valuable which promoted the happiness of the
family or the tribe. To-day we tend to include all
men in our sympathies, and regard that alone as good
which promotes the sum of human happiness in general.
Reply — We shall deal with the second (Gizycki's)
form of the argument only, as it is the more modern
form, and includes Bain's. First, we deny that men
now tend to identify the moral good with that which
brings happiness to the race. The only people who do
so are the utilitarian ethicians, and they do so only in
their books. In common life, every man, even the
ethician, will assert his rights as against society, and
he will assert certain of these rights, and regard himself
as justified in so doing, no matter what be the amount
of general pleasure that he feels he spoils by clinging to
his rights. Secondly, even granted that we are becoming
(as perhaps we are) more benevolent, this does not mean
that the content of our moral ideas is changing, that we
tend to identify all goodness with benevolence, but only
that, on the one hand, we now exercise greater careful-
ness in discharging this very important duty of benevo-
lence than hitherto, and, on the other, that whereas we
were formerly brought into contact with but a few men
whom it was possible for us to benefit, our modern
system has brought all the nations under each other's
influence, and made it possible for and incumbent upon
us to widen our sympathies more. We are, in other
words, now more one family than we were. But that
does not mean that the good of others has become our
sole end. A father knows that he has a duty of benevo-
lence towards his own family, and as the family grows
the demands upon his benevolence may become corre-

352 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

spondirgly greater. These increasing demands thus
made :>n his Hberahty, and his correspondence with
these mcreasing demands, do not imply that he has
altered his ideas of benevolence or that he has tended
moie to identify all morality with benevolence. It is so
with the race at large. Our sympathies may widen —
/ still our idea of the final end remains the same. Thirdly,
w^hen we admit that men's sympathies may have
widened with time, we mean, not so much that the
individual mind has grown more benevolent (though
it has, perhaps, grown to some extent), as that the
public mind or interest in the general affairs of State
has grown — has developed — and that it expresses itself
more than was formerly the case. The political educa-
tion of the masses as a result of modern political con-
ditions is a subject of which we have heard much, and
it needs no discussion here beyond indicating that it
has had some influence in helping the ordinary citizen
to understand the nature of the public interests — such
as interests of the State. But we must not forget that
however appreciation of public interests is developed,
private interest will not, therefore, urge its claims on
the individual with diminished force, although the pur-
suit of it must naturally be always less prominent and
receive less notice than matters of State in public
records. It is not easy, therefore, to see how any
growth of interest in the public good strengthens the
case for that development in moral ideas spoken of by
utilitarians. Growth of interest in the public good is
explained not by development of our ideas as to the
natural end of man but by the " political education of
the masses," who now share in framing the laws of
the State and in the procuring of the public good.
Fourthly, Gizycki has argued as if men were becoming
more social — i.e., as if from the beginning the social
interest were developing and the individual interest
gradually disappearing. But we would ask the reader
to compare with Gizycki's account the following quota-

ON UTILITARIANISM 353

tion from M. Levy-Bruhl's work on " Moral Science "
(M. Levy-Bruhl is no opponent of Utilitarianism) — a
work in which this distinguished writer teaches exactly
the opposite of Gizycki's view, and regards the history
of the human race as a history of the gradual emanci-
pation of the individual from the social body of which,
according to Levy-Bruhl's theory, he was at first a
mere part without any end of his own : " Nous pouvons
admettre avec une vraisemblance proche de la certitude
que dans les groupes humaines {i.e., pre- Australian
groups) qui differaient autant des Soci6t6s Australiennes
que nous differons d'elles, I'individu n'existait guere
mentalement pour lui-meme, n'avait guere conscience,
si Ton ose dire, de sa conscience individuelle, et que sa
vie psychique ^tait de nature presque purement col-
lective." Here, then, it is the individual that is repre-
sented as coming forward — society as falling back. In
such a variety of conflicting views among the Utili-
tarians it is hard to regard the argument drawn from
history as a decisive proof either of Utilitarianism or
of any other ethical theory.

In summing up our criticism of the arguments in
favour of Utilitarianism drawn from the " common
conception of Morals " we say, first, that men have
indicated no tendency so to change their moral ideas
as to identify the moral good with the general happi-
ness. Secondly, if we assume, what is really very
doubtful, that there has been a considerable growth
in charity in modern times, we cannot thence infer
that men are developing a belief in the " general happi-
ness " as the natural ethical end of the individual. It
proves at most that men do now more frequently and
extensively what they always knew to be one of their
principal duties.

(5) The Argument from Pragmatism.
Pragmatisi^n is the theory that that is true which
works. Applied to the question of Moral theory it
Vol. I — 23

354 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

means that a theory of conduct is true which yields the
most acceptable and workable code of human morals.
Utilitarianism, we are told by its advocates, is found to
work. It does not, according to the Utilitarians, like
Hedonism, debase mankind. Its moral code is a high
one. The world has been working on it for centuries
(" by far the greater part of the morality of every age
and country has reference to the welfare of Society,"
writes Bain *). Utilitarianism, it is asserted, is the
expression of a law the observance of which holds
society together, of a law which would, if adopted
generally by mankind, prevent war and injustice and
cruelty and the antagonisms of classes, and everything
else which brings misery to men. Utilitarianism, then,
works in the best sense of the word. Consequently it
must be true.

Reply — On the general principle of Pragmatism, or
the principle that what works is true, we cannot speak
now, for in this book we are concerned with Ethical
theory only. We shall, therefore, confine our attention
to the Pragmatist argument as applied to Morals.

Both the major and the minor premiss of this argu-
ment need to be examined — viz., that " a theory of con-
duct which works is true," and that " Utilitarianism is
a workable theory of conduct."

The major proposition could not be accepted without
very great restrictions. Before workability could be
regarded as a test of the truth of a moral theory, the
theory should be workable in the sense and under the
conditions that follow — (a) it should possess a workable
criterion — that is, a criterion which is certain and can be
applied with certainty to conduct ; (6) it should lead
to a workable moral code, a code which it is possible
to accept ; (c) it should be the only workable moral
theory, for a moral theory is supposed to assign the
ultimate ground of morals, and there can be only one

* " Moral Science," page 442.

ON UTILITARIANISM 355

ultimate ground of morals. Hence, there can be only
one true complete moral theory. With these restric-
tions we shall for the sake of argument * accept the
major proposition of our opponents without further
question, and in the light of these restrictions we go
on to the principal portion of our argument, which is
the examination of the minor proposition — that Utili-
tarianism works. We find that this minor premiss
fails to fulfil any of the three conditions under which
alone we accepted the major proposition, {a) Utili-
tarianism has no workable criterion ; (6) it does not
yield a workable code ; [c] it excludes other theories
which are workable.

{a) We have already seen that the Utilitarian criterion
is quite unworkable in practice. Its application to
conduct is most difficult and uncertain, if not absolutely
impossible.

(6) We also saw that the code of morals to which this
Utilitarian criterion leads when rigidly and consistently
applied is not such as mankind could possibly accept or
has ever accepted. For the essential feature of Utili-
tarianism is that it subordinates the individual wholly
to society, a condition of things which the individual
will never allow and could not allow. Every man
claims the right to pursue his own end, due regard,
of course, being had to the claims of society. There is
no man who will not consider that he has rights inde-
pendently of society, and that he can exercise these
rights in spite of the fact that society may be deprived
of much pleasure thereby — of more pleasure than he
gains in using his right. Thus, society has no right to
make a man profess a faith in which he does not believe,
even though the profession of such faith promoted the
material interests of society. We claim, then, that

* We should explain to the reader that even with these conditions
realised we would not feel compelled to accept this theory that " a
moral theory that is workable is true." The above conditions are the
least that we should require before even considering the question
whether " a moral theory that works is necessarily true."

356 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the individual will always regard himself as independent,
to a large extent, of society, and that if society should
at any time treat the individual merely as a thing
without rights on his own account, the individual will
resolutely resent any such action on the part of society.
But society will not and cannot do this. It cannot
afford to ignore the individual right and individual
independence. Therefore, the principle of Utilitarian-
ism is unworkable.*

(c) Utilitarianism, even if it were a workable theory,
is not the only workable theory. Everything that is
true in this theory is contained in the Aristotelian and
Scholastic moral system, and they are not Utilitarian.
All the virtues — temperance, justice, fortitude, benevo-
lence, prudence, truth — were formulated before the
introduction of the Utilitarian theory, and without the
';x:aid of the Utilitarian principle.

/ Utilitarianism, therefore, as a system is neither

1 necessary nor workable, nor the only workable theory ;

and, therefore, we cannot, on the ground of its supposed

workability, postulate its truth. There are, however,

in the Utilitarian theory some principles which are

1 both workable and true, as we pointed out in the be-

' ginning of this chapter ; but these principles do not

' justify us in accepting the Utilitarian system as a

whole.

(6) Argument from the theory of the " Solidarity " of
Society.

It is not easy to give a definition that will adequately
describe all the forms of this theory.j Most of them,
however, are, we think, contained in the following
rather lengthy definition, which may be described as,
a mean reading of the " Solidarity " theories. The
theory of " Solidarity " implies that society is an

• See also pp. 328-g.

t A good account of the various forms of this theory is given in M.
Fouill6e 8 " Elements Sociologiqucs de la Morale," rmj^ also some
account of tho name " Solidaritd," a^ applied to Morals. , '

ON Utilitarianism 357

organic unity made up of individual men and related
to those individuals much as the body is related to its
members — that just as the body and the members act
on one another reciprocally, so society and individuals
have a reciprocal influence on one another ; that as
the members derive their existence, their functions, and
their meaning from the whole body of which they are
the parts, so the individual man is indebted to society
for his existence, his faculties,* the development of his
faculties, his character and (in a very special way) for
his moral nature ; that apart from society the individual
is unintelligible (some of the expressions of this are
curious — " Unus homo, nullus homo " f — " we are what
we are through the rest " J — " a man not dependent
on a race is as meaningless a phrase as an apple that
does not grow upon a tree " §) ; that (this is their
principal ethical conclusion) as the body is the end of
the members, so society is the end of the individual,
and that on this account, as also on account of the
indebtedness of the individual to society for all that he
is and has, he should direct his actions to the good of
society.

Criticism — In this theory we fmd two points for.
criticism — (I.) The proposition that society is the end
of the individual as the body is the end of the members.
(II.) That the individual is formed by his social environ-
ment, and consequently is indebted to society for all
that he is and has, and that he should in all his actions
seek the good of society.

* This theory that the individual is formed by the organism of
society is part of the theory of Social Evolution — that is, the theory
that the feelings of the individual (the mind or ego being only, accord-
ing to these writers, a bundle of feelings) are inherited from the race
at large, and that they have been evolved by the pressure of all parts
of society upon each part, so that the individual may be regarded as
a microcosm of all society, past and present. " We are not," writes
Carneri (" Grundlegung," page 331), " as individuals, any longer a
part — we are the whole of society, and carry it in our breast."

t Trendelenburg

X Guyau.

§ Leslie Stephen

358 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(I.) On the first proposition it is not necessary to say
much at this point. We have aheady seen that society
is not the end of the individual man, that the individual
man and society have the same end, which is beyond
them both — namely, the Infinite Good — and that, conse-
quently, the individual man is not a mere part of society.

The analogy of the members and the body, and its
applicability to society, will be further considered when
we come to treat of society. But it will have already
suggested itself to the reader that the analogy is of its
nature misleading, since the cells and members of a body
are not free beings, whereas the individual man is a free
being. Also, the cells and members have no end of their
own beyond the body, because their capacities do not
exceed that of promoting the good of the body, whereas
the individual has capacities that exceed the promotion
of social happiness, and, therefore, his final end cannot
be the promotion of this happiness. The relation of the
cells and members to the body we describe as organic,
that of individuals to society as " hyperorganic." *

(II.) The question of the indebtedness of the indi-
vidual to society, of which so much is made in the
theory of " Solidarity," must be considered here more
closely. This indebtedness is described at great length
and in an interesting way by Leslie Stephen. The
following passage, though not quite so thoroughgoing
in matter and aim as other expositions with which we
are acquainted, will, nevertheless, give the reader a
good idea of the style of argument generally adopted
in the exposition of this theory : —

" Almost every action of my life," he writes, " is dependent
more or less directly upon the co-operation of others, and the
more so as I become more civilised. I cannot think without
assuming the knowledge attained by others. I see that my

• Wc must repeat here that we liavc no wish to limit the extent of
the fluty of Ixrnc'volence. VVu think, in fact, that there is no duty
which utilitarians would i« prailire demand from us that we could
not as scholastics accept and recognise.

ON UTILITARIANISM 350

fire is low, I feel that I am too cold. I infer that I should
put on coals. Even in so simple a case I use inherited results
of the experience of others, and especially of the great dis-
covery of fire and its properties. But I am also dependent
on the continued co-operation of others. ... If I can devote
myself to write an Ethical treatise, it is because thousands of
people all over the world are working to provide me with
food and clothes and a variety of intellectual and material
products. ... It is again obvious that as every man is
born and brought up a member of this vast organisation (of
Society) his character is throughout moulded and determined
by its pecuharities. It is the medium in which he lives as
much as the air which he breathes or the water which he
drinks. And this implies not merely . . . that his intel-
lectual furniture, his whole system of beliefs, prejudices,
and so forth, are in a great degree acquired by direct trans-
ference, and that consciously or unconsciously he imbibes
the current beliefs and logical methods of his fellows, but
also that he is educated from infancy by the necessity of
conforming his activities to those of the surrounding mass.
If his feelings or beliefs bring him into conflict with his
neighbours he is constantly battered and hammered into
comparative uniformity," &c.

Other advocates of this theory claim, as we have said,
a much greater degree of indebtedness and dependence
than Leslie Stephen.

Now, in order to answer this theory, it is important
that we should set forth briefly and in outline our own
view on the indebtedness of individuals to society,
saying how much comes to us generally from our social
environment, and how much we have, not from society,
but from nature directly, or from the Author of nature ;
for we claim that, besides the benefits which we derive
from society, there are others that we derive not from
society but from nature.

(i) In the first place, there are those things which
are common to all men — that is to say, our human
nature itself and its essential properties. These come to
us directly from God. Our parents are only the in-
strumental causes of our existence and of our human
nature — they are the transmitters of human nature.

36o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

not its causes. And this common human nature in-
cludes a body and a soul, the parts of the body and the
functions of the soul. Society has not given us heart,
stomach, or eyes ; neither has it given us our powers
of growing, feeling, and thinking. These things are
given directly by the Author of nature, and merely
transmitted to us by our parents. Society, and more
particularly our non-living environment, may make
some accidental changes in some of these things. A
limb may develop or become atrophied in response to
environment, but our body and soul and our faculties
are all from nature. So far society can make no claim
upon us.

(2) In the second place, there are those things in which
men differ from one another, and here society has some
claim upon us. Of those things in which men differ
some are innate and some are acquired. The innate
element includes, broadly speaking, three things — ■
[a) bodily properties like health, (6) mental ability,
(c) our innate will-tendency or character. Now, (a)
individual bodily properties like health depend very
much on social environment, but not so much on society
in general as on the special influence of parents and
immediate ancestors. (6) Innate mental abilities de-
pend but little (much less than bodily health) on society.
From decrepit ancestors it is scacrely possible to inherit
a strong and active body — but out of a stupid race we
may get a sharp intelligence. Therefore, mental ability
is more independent of environment than bodily health.
Still, here again, there must be some degree of depen-
dence— not, indeed, on any efforts, conscious or uncon-
scious, of society at large, but on influences from par-
ticular individuals in our line of ancestors, (c) The
character with which we are born exhibits much depen-
dence not only on particular individuals in society, but
on society at large. As the father is, so, to a large
extent, is the son. As the race is, so, to a large extent,
is the individual. Every man is affected by the family

ON UTILITARIANISM 361

disposition and by the racial disposition (the disposition,
for instance, of the Frenchman, the Enghshman, and the
German), and in both of these respects we are dependent
on our social environment. So far, we have spoken of
innate individual possessions only.

Another class of human attributes in which men differ
(a class which is of the greatest importance to the theory
of Solidarity) is that portion of our being which consists
of acquired habits. Acquirements are in the main ac-
quirements of {a) growth (body), {h) of knowledge
(intellect), (c) of character (will).

{a) The first of these classes of acquirements it is not
necessary to dwell on, since it cannot be of much conse-
quence to the theory we are criticising. For their food
and other things necessary to growth children are
indebted to their parents only, not to society at large.
No doubt, many articles of food would be impossible
without society, but food in general could be obtained
even though men never entered society. If animals
can obtain their food without society there is no reason
why men could not do the same. For bodily growth,
therefore, we are not essentially dependent on society.

But it is in relation to the other two classes of acquire-
ments : {h) our information and (c) our character — that
we are most indebted to our social environment, and it
is on these two factors that the advocates of the
" Solidarity " theory lay most stress. Now, as we shall
show in a moment, our debt to society in respect of in-
formation and character is a very large one. Yet it is
not so large as to lend countenance to the theory that
we owe all to society. For, not to sepak of such know-
ledge as could be gained by us even though society
did not exist, and confining our attention to that portion
which depends to some extent on social aids, we still
claim that much of our knowledge and our character
depends upon the individual himself and not on social
environment. For (i) there is no such thing as a pure
or unmixed mental acquirement. As the scholastics say

362 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

— Id quod recipitur recipitur secundum modum recipientis.
The information we are capable of acquiring depends
not merely upon our teachers, but also upon our natural
abilities and industry,* and for these we are not in the
main indebted to society. So also the character, views,
opinions, tendencies, which our surroundings beget in
us, depend largely on what we are by nature, upon our
general complexion of soul and body, and not on en-
vironment. Mere environment could never make a
great man. We are, it is said, what our age makes
us ; but, then, the age must find us in order to make
us. To some extent Shakespeare was the product of
his age, but it needed a Shakespeare to take hold of and
utilise, and by his own personal industry to perfect,
what the age had to give him — else we should not have
had the author of " Hamlet " and " Macbeth." What
we are and do, then, depends largely on ourselves, our
ability, and our industry ; and even what we do receive
from outside is so largely modified within us that our
information and character cannot be said to be due
wholly or even chiefly to external sources. (2) For our
acquirements, intellectual and moral, we are largely
indebted to the mere material world and not exclusively
to social environment. Much of our information comes
to us direct from the physical world. Also, our faculty
of knowledge is to some extent sharper or duller accord-
ing to our surroundings. The brighter fancy, for
instance, depends upon the more sunny climate. Moral
character, too, is largely formed in response to the
visible world around us. The vicinity of lofty moun-
tains influences us to generous feeling and to detach-
ment from trifles — a gloomy and forbidding environ-
ment inclines us to the opposite of this. Our debt,
therefore, cannot be wholly to human society. (3) Both

•If wc iniKht borrow an .analogy from Economics: "Without
industry capital would be of very little value to commerce, and without
induKtry the acquirements of the race, which arc our mental capital,
would do little for the individual." Wc are not, therefore, what our
age makes us.

ON UTILITARIANISM 363

in the matter of information and in the matter of
character we depend not as a rule upon society at large
but upon definite individuals, proximately upon our
parents and teachers, and remotely upon other indi-
viduals. For actual teaching we are indebted to our
parents : for the principles on which their instruction
proceeds we are indebted to the individuals who dis-
covered or proved these principles. It is absurd, there-
fore, to speak of the individual mind being formed in
response to " social pressure " from all parts of the
social organism, when we can actually point out the
individuals to whom we are indebted for what we have.
Our debt, then, is not wholly to society but is due
mostly to individuals. (4) That which we have re-
ceived we have received mainly from the generations
that are dead, and only to some extent from our con-
temporaries to whom we owe comparatively little ;
and it would be absurd to base on the individual's debt
to the past a theory that he is bound to regard the
happiness of the present and future generations as his sole
natural end. Now to this argument that it would be
absurd to base on our debt to the past a theory that our
sole natural end is the good of present and future genera-
tions, some might be inclined to return the follow-
ing answer : Present and future generations are the
heirs of the past, and it is therefore right that they
should benefit by the individual's indebtedness to the
past. This answer, however, we cannot regard as
satisfactory. When a father leaves property to his
children, no one argues that, because each child is
indebted to his father, he is therefore indebted to his
brothers and sisters also, who are, like himself, his
father's heirs. That which each receives is his own.
So also, whatever we have received of being, of cha-
racter, of information from our ancestry should be
regarded as our own property ; and, therefore, if the
analogy based on inheritance is to hold good, our debt
to the past involves no duty of seeking the welfare

364 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

or the happiness of our fellowmen. Our duty to ouf
fellowinen is, as we have seen, based upon very different
grounds from that of mere " inheritance." For our
information, therefore, and for what is acquired in our
character, we are to a very large extent independent
of social environment.

And yet we must admit that to society we are in-
debted for something that we are and something that
we possess. And our debt is not a small one. It is
through society that we become " the heir of all the
ages." It is society that receives and transmits to the
human race the knowledge attained by each succeeding
generation. Without society there could be no human
development, no language, for instance, and, therefore,
no efficient thought. In a word, without society the
possibilities of human nature would to a large extent
remain possibilities, and man's development and higher
perfection would remain unaccomplished. This means
that our debt to society is very large, but it means no
more ; and we cannot legitimately infer from it that
our debt to society makes the happiness of society
man's sole natural end.*

* The theory that we owe all, even the existence of our minds, to
society, has been maintained and defended by the most varied argu-
ments. Besides the reasons given in the text, some adduce an argu-
ment from the supposed discovery of Prof. Baldwin that the child's
mind or Ego is formed by imitation of the actions of those around it.
Others, like Prof. Royce, find a proof for this theory that the Ego or
mind is formed by society, in the fact that our thoughts and disposi-
tions are a reflex of the attitude of other men towards us. If the
world opposes us. Prof. Royce says, the Ego of which we are self-
conscious (our own Ego) is felt as a fighting Ego. If the world admires
us, our Ego is felt as a heroic Ego, and so on. (These arguments are
given in Baldwin's " Mental Development in the Child and the Race,"
and in Royce's works, " Studies in Good and Evil " and " The World
and the Individual.") Others argue from the supposed absence of
Reason in the wild solitaries who have never been under the influence
of society.

Fully to consider these and the other arguments used in support
of the theory of " Solidarity " would require more space than it is
{X)s.siblc to give them here. Prof. Baldwin's and Royce's theories
the reader will have no difficulty in answering for himself. Before
the child could imitate the world around him, he must be pt)ssesscd of
a mind — lie must Ik; an Ego ; and before a man could reflect his sur-
roundings in the way described by Prof. Royce, he must have a mind

ON UTILITARIANISM 365

We conclude our account of the Solidarist's view of
the action of society on the individual and the depen-
dence of the individual on society with a quotation from
M. Fouillee : " Les solidaristes," he writes,* " en defini-
tive, n'ont point pousse jusqu'au bout I'analyse de
I'idee de dependance. L'homme ne depend pas seule-
ment des autres hommes, de la nature, de la famille, de
la nature exterieure ; il depend aussi de sa propre con-
stitution individuelle ; il depend de lui-meme et de
toutes les relations internes qui le constituent tel ou
tel. L'interdependance suppose I'intradependance. . . .
On pent done dire que les solidaristes voient seulement
la moitie de la verite ; ils constatent la loi de solidarite
relative qui nous emporte hors de nous, ils oublient la
loi de non-solidarite relative qui nous concentre en
nous." t

(7) Argument from the necessity of Utilitarianism to
account for our moral intuitions.

A seventh argument in favour of Utilitarianism, an
argument which we do not think it necessary to con-
sider at any length here, is derived from the fact that

by which to reflect them. Hence the individual Ego could not be
formed by imitation or by reflection of society. Besides, both of
these theories are built on the false supposition that the soul is only
a bundle of qualities or dispositions or thoughts, and not a substance —
a theory the refutation of which belongs to Psychology. As regards
the argument derived from the supposed lack of Reason in the wild
solitaries, our reply is that so far as we are acquainted with the history
of these wild solitaries (our knowledge of their history is mainly con-
fined to that given in a remarkable work entitled " Homo Sapiens
Ferus," by a certain Prof. Rauber), we are persuaded that the actions
and habits of these solitaries give no ground for thinking that they
were not possessed of Reason. On the contrary, the ease with which
they were in practically all cases taught to speak and read (the few
exceptions being mainly cases in which these wild men were taken
when old, and in whom, therefore, the organs of speech had practically
become atrophied for want of use) shows conclusively that they had
Reason, and could think just like other men.

• " Les Elements Sociologiques de la Morale," page 395.

t We think it fair to mention, before quitting the consideration of
this theory, that much of the civilisation and refinement of the world
to-day depends upon religion and the church, and not on civil society.
We mention this, however, not as an argument but as a fact.

366 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Utilitarianism {a) explains many of our supposed moral
intuitions, which (b) on any other theory of morals
would not be explainable. Thus, it is claimed that
our intuition of the goodness of justice, truth, and
other such virtues is explainable only on the supposi-
tion that the " good " is that which promotes the
welfare and happiness of the race.

Reply — ^This argument we regard as false in its pre-
misses and in its supposition. In its premisses it is
false because it does not explain our moral intuitions.
It does not, as we have already shown,* explain the
law of justice, and it opposes our view of the unlawful-
ness of homicide and of lying. Again, it is false in its
supposition that the truth of a moral theory is to be
judged by its conformity with a particular moral code.
It is not allowable to accept a moral theory for the
simple reason that it explains or harmonises with our
moral beliefs, since if Ethics is a science, our beliefs
must be themselves grounded upon and reasoned out
on the basis of our theory of the end of man and the
nature of the good. Hence, our beliefs depend upon
our theory of Ethics, not vice versa. Nor does it make
a difference that these moral beliefs referred to are
intuitions. The truth of our intuitions as well as of
all other beliefs must be tested by that which we regard
as the true theory of moral goodness and of man's
final end — that is, our beliefs must all be tested by our
Ethical theory. Hence our Moral intuitions afford no
sufficient reason for our accepting the theory of Utili-
tarianism.

These, we believe, are the main arguments adduced
by the Utilitarian Ethicians, and from the consideration
of them we are persuaded that they do not, to use
Mill's words, " determine the mind to accept " the
Utilitarian theory.

• See pp. 328-9 }y

ON UTILITARIANISM 367

APPENDIX I

The Theory of Moral Values

The theory of " moral values " (Werttheorie) has come to
occupy such a prominent place in recent Ethical literature
that we cannot pass from the present chapter without saying
a few words about it. It will not be necessary to consider
this theory at any length because we have already said a
great deal in the present chapter about its principles, though,
indeed, we have not spoken of them under the name of the
" moral value " theory. Only the general principles of the
theory will be here described — the details and the various
forms of the theory are to be found principally in Ehrenfels'
" System der Werttheorie," Meinong's " Psychological Ethical
Enquiries on Theories of Values," and other such works.

A thing in this theory is said to have " value " when it
answers to — that is, is the object of — desire or appetite. It
is said to have a moral value when the race desires it, or
when it leads to something which the race desires. The
value of a thing then depends upon our desires. " We do
not," says Ehrenfels, " desire things because they have a
value — they have a value because we desire tbem." Desire
is the criterion of value. But though this principle is common
to all " value philosophies," it is not always understood in
the same way by the valuists. For some accept the principle
in the sense that an object has value when it is indispensable
for our needs, whilst others claim that only such objects
have value as are worthy of being desired.

Valuists also differ as to {a) the cause, {h) the conditions of
intensity and (c) the object of desire. The most prominent
view on the first two of these is that of Ehrenfels who teaches
{a) that desire arises when the state of happiness which is
conditioned by our desires lies higher in the scale of feeling
than the state of happiness which is possible without the
gratification of those desires, and (6) that the intensity of
desire depends upon the difference in these two levels of
feeling, (c) On the object of desire, some of this school
teach that what is desired is not an object or a feeling but
existence — the existence of some object or action or feeling.
A curious development of this theory is that of Meinong,
who teaches that all feelings of worth or value are feelings
that arise from affirmative or negative existential judgments.
Thus according to this author the " value " of any end x
is proportioned to the sum of the pleasures and pains got

368 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

from inagining the two existential judgments together " x
exists" and " x does not exist," exist, viz., as an attained or
realised end.

In all these theories the value of an object necessarily
depends upon a calculus of pleasures and pains ; and in
order to facilitate this calculus they distinguish values into
positive and negative — positive when an increase in the
object makes for the fulfilment of desire ; negative when a
decrease in it makes for the fulfilment of desire.

Ethical values have in this theory two prominent character-
s tics — they promote the general good and they are absolute,
i.e. they are independent of change in desire. Now on the
nature of this latter characteristic valuists are very much
divided. Some maintain that this absolute value is real,
some that it is only apparent. Brentano, for instance, com-
pares Ethical values to true (we take it that he means " neces-
sary ") judgments, and claims that Ethical values are always
true values, just as true necessary judgments are always true.
Ehrenfels, on the other hand, defends the imaginative cha-
racter of absolute values. He contends that no values are
absolute, but that, in the popular judgment. Ethical values
assume an absolute form, or appear absolute, and for two
reasons — first, because of the constant tendency of the human
mind to turn the relative into the absolute ; secondly, because
de facto there does actually obtain in action an absolutely
necessary relation — a relation of necessary truth — which we
illegitimately regard as attaching to the moral character of
acts. This absolutely necessary relation obtains between
means and ends, for in every moral value a certain means is
absolutely and truly necessary to some end. This absolute
necessity, he says, the popular mind easily but illogically
transfers from the means to the end itself, and in this way
we come to regard our moral judgments, which concern ends
only, as absolute or categorical judgments — that is, as judg-
ments that certain things are categorically necessary. The
popular judgment being then once formed, it is easy to see,
Ehrenfels contends, how even the philosopher, misled by the
popular fallacy, may proceed to build upon these spurious
judgments a system of absolute or categorical morals.
Ethics, concludes Ehrenfels, is therefore a .spurious science,
as long as it claims absoluteness for moral law. A genuine
Ethics, he tells us, is not an absolute but a relative science,
and it differs from the other parts of the " theory of values "
only in the width of the desires to which it assigns values,
for the characteristic of the Ethical desire is that it is a
desire for the good of all men.

ON UTILITARIANISM 369

The question " in what the general good consists " again
gives rise to differences of opinion among the valuists ; some
say it consists in the greatest pleasure of the greatest number,
others in the satisfaction of the general common desire,
others in the health bodily and mental of society, others in
the combination of all these under the common title — " the
satisfaction of our common needs."

There being, according to Ehrenfels, no true absolute
value in objects, the value of objects may change. The
principal factors in these value-changes will be those that
follow on (a) changes of atrributes in man himself, (b) pro-
gress in human knowledge, (c) change of social relations, e.g.,
change from an aristocratic to a democratic form of society,
{d) changes in inter-social or inter-national relations.

One important part of the theory of Ehrenfels' is the claim
that man is given by nature only a certain amount of energy,
that this energy must feed the moral as well as the non-moral
dispositions, that these non-moral dispositions are powers
which need to be developed as well as the morad, and that
consequently we should not develop the moral dispositions too
highly, lest we fail in other respects. A perfectly good humanity
would necessarily, say some valuists, mean a weak and a poor
humanity.

This rough outline of the theory of Values will make it
clear to the reader that ethically there is very little that is
new in the theory of Values over and above what belongs to
Utilitarianism.

APPENDIX II

Hedonism and Utilitarianism — their Reconciliation

To hedonists and utilitarians the question — whether and
in what manner Hedonism and Utilitarianism may be recon-
ciled with one another — is not only an interesting, it is a
vital problem. For it seems to us from our reading of the
works of utilitarian philosophers, to take their case first,
that when utilitarians sit down in a cool moment to consider
the question which of the two ends — his own good or the
good of society — is of more importance to the individual,
which of the two (if there be such a thing as a final end) is the
final end of the individual, it must seem plain that the end of
paramount importance to the individual man is his own good.
Of course a man may be so interested in a certain part of
society that the happiness of that part is of more importance
to him than his own. For instance, a father may think more

, Vol. I — 24

370 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of the happiness of his children than of his own happiness.
But we are not speaking of such special cases here. We are
speaking here of a general comparison of the good of the in-
dividual man with that of society at large as the end, and we
say that a utilitarian ought to recognise that the end of most
importance to the individual is his own good, or (which is the
same thing for utilitarians) his own happiness. To the utili-
tarian therefore it becomes a vital problem whether or not it
can be shown that the individual in seeking the good of other
men is also promoting his own.

On the other hand, the Hedonist would seem to feel that
unless his system can be extricated from the narrow rut of
selfishness — unless it can be shown that the theory that our
own happiness is the final end leads on in some way to the
obviously more refined theory that in all our acts we should
seek the good of the race — his system of Hedonism will/t)e
considered, and is, an ignoble philosophy, narrow, demeaning,
and brutalising. Hence the endeavours of both hedonists
and utilitarians to bridge over the gap separating the two
systems.

Of the various methods proposed for reconciling the two
systems of Hedonism and Utilitarianism, we can mention
only a few —

(i) Some, like Mill, attempt to reconcile them on grounds
of pure Logic by deducing the second theory from the first.
Mill's attempted deduction of the duty of seeking all men's
happiness from our duty to seek ' each his own ' we have
already noticed in this chapter. A similar attempted deduc-
tion is the argument that since each man's happiness i§ to
count for one and nobody's for more than one, therefore no
man's happiness is of more account to himself than the happi-
ness of any other man. In other words, that because A.'s
happiness is no more to A. than B.'s is to B., therefore A.'s
happiness is no more to A. than B.'s is to A. This argument
it is not necessary to refute.

(2) Others attempt to reconcile them on grounds of Ethics.
Thus {a) we have Rashdall's and Sidgwick's argument that
since each man maintains not only that his own happiness is
an end, but is the right end or the end which he ought to pur-
sue, his duty is to seek the general happiness. This argument
we have examined. (6) Some contend that by seeking the
happiness of others we secure for ourselves the greatest of all
pleasures — namely, the peace and happiness of a good con-
science, and consequently that the law to seek the general
happiness is the same in effect as the law to seek our
own. This is the idea of Gizycki's principle — " Strive after

ON UTILITARIANISM 371

peace of Conscience, by seeking in all things the good ol
Humanity." *

(3) Others attempt a psychological reconciliation either
{a) through the passion of sympathy which, they say, at once
induces us to do good to others and at the same time brings
us pleasure when we do such good ; or (6) through the sup-
posed law of feeling that in order to get the maximum of
personal pleasure we must indulge alternately the selfish and
benevolent feelings, else the power of feeling would become
fatigued. " Egoism," writes Spencer, " must be checked by
intervals of altruism if our faculties are to recover the energy
lost by pleasure."

(4) In some systems they are reconciled through a meta-
physical theory of {a) the relation of the individual to the
race or {h) of the reciprocal effect on one another of the
individual and the social happiness. Thus (a) many recent
Ethicians argue that in seeking the happiness of the race we
are seeking the happiness of the true " ego " since the race is
the true substance of the individual, {h) Others claim that to
seek for the general good to the neglect of the individual good
would be to render one's self unfit for benevolence ; whilst un-
less we seek the general good we are sure to bring upon our-
selves ultimate misery. The first theory is to be found in
Seth. The latter principle is defended by Spencer, the second
portion of it being adopted by Shaftesbury also. " It is cer-
tain," writes Shaftesbury, " that if a man were destitute of
all wish for the social good — that is, opposed it on all occa-
sions— he would be thoroughly miserable. So if a man does
anything against the social good he is doing a part of that
which will ultimately cause him great misery."'

(5) Butler, Locke, and Paley maintain that the reconcilia-
tion of Hedonism and Utilitarianism lies in Theology — that a
benign Legislator, God, must ultimately secure the harmony
of the two interests, the individual and the social.

As we said, this question is of a good deal of importance
to Hedonists and Utilitarians. But to the Scholastic philo-
sopher it is not of very great importance ; and hence,
though in itself it gives rise to much interesting speculation,
we shall not quote our own view here beyond saying, first,
that we do not think that Utilitarianism is a necessary growth
out of Hedonism ; and, secondly, we believe that in the face
of the facts of ordinary experience it would be impossible to
show anything approaching a perfect identification of the
private and the public good.

♦ " Moralphilosophit," page 121.

CHAPTER XII

"EVOLUTION AND ETHICS— A DISCUSSION
OF THE ETHICAL THEORIES OF THE
EVOLUTION PHILOSOPHERS "

Evolution means growth — by the Evolutionist Ethics
is meant the theory that morals are a growth, a growth
from non-ethical elements.

There are three principal theories of Evolutionist
Morals — the Biological, the Psychological, and the
Transcendental theory.

The theory of biological evolution is a theory of
the evolution of the objective laws of morals, such as
the laws of temperance and justice. It is the theory
that right and wrong and their laws, objectively taken,
are only stages or conditions in the evolution of life,
the right being that which promotes life, and the wrong
that which impairs it.

The theory of psychological evolution concerns not
the objective laws of morals, but our subjective moral
opinions and sentiments, and it explains these opinions
and sentiments as evolved from certain mere non-moral
feelings like those of pleasure and pain. This theory of
Psychological Evolution reduces all moral principles to
mere subjective conditions of mind, and so its chief aim
is to explain the origin of our moral beliefs.

The theory of transcendental evolution explains
the objective moral law, and our subjective moral
opinions as two sides of one fundamental evolutionary
process — the evolution, namely, of the Absolute. Of
this Absolute we shall give an explanation in the next
chapter before cUscussing its relations to Ethics.

It will be seen that though those three theories are
distinct they are not wholly contradictory, for the

372

EVOLUTIOlS AND ETHICS 373

subject-matter of each is distinct. One treats only of
objective moral laws, another of subjective moral con-
victions, the third of both objective and subjective,
but under an aspect quite different from that con-
sidered in the other two systems. There is, then,
nothing to prevent the same ethician from advocating
all three theories or any two of them. Indeed, most
professed adherents of the Biological school belong to
the school of Psychological Evolution as well, and some
of those who profess the first two theories are followers
of the Transcendentalist theory also.

Now, these three Evolutionary systems require
separate treatment, and we will take them in the order
in which we have given them above.

ETHICS OF BIOLOGICAL EVOLUTION

(a) ACCOUNT OF spencer's THEORY

The most representative exponent of the theory of
Biological Evolution is Herbert Spencer. To the dis-
cussion of his work, therefore, we shall devote ourselves
in the present section.

The task which Spencer sets himself in his " Data of
Ethics " * is that of explaining morality through the
ordinary laws of evolution. That the world in general
is subject to evolution he takes for granted, and he
finds himself forced to bring morals under this general
law of evolution by " finding that they " (the moral
laws) " form part of the aggregate of phenomena which
evolution has wrought out. If the entire visible Uni-
verse has been evolved, if the solar system as a whole,
the earth as part of it, the life in general which the
earth bears, as well as that of the individual organism
— if the mental phenomena displayed by all creatures,
up to the highest in common with the phenomena

♦ Spencer's Ethical opinions are also expressed in hjs work on
" Sociology."

374 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

presented by aggregates of these highest — if one and
all conform to the laws of evolution, then the necessary
implication is that those phenomena of conduct in these
highest creatures with which Morality is concerned also
conform."* In the light, therefore, of the law of
evolution, Spencer goes on to show that morally good
conduct and highly evolved conduct are one. In the
establishment of this proposition there are two steps.
First, he shows that the conduct of man is not different
in kind from that of the higher animals, and that the
conduct of the higher animals is not different in kind
from that of the lower. By " higher " in conduct is
only meant the inclusion in conduct of more and more
numerous ends. And this inclusion of more and more
numerous ends is found, he assures us, always to accom-
pany development in structure and function, the animal
of more complex structure and function being capable
of taking in more ends — that of less complex structure
and function, fewer ends. Secondly, he compares highly
evolved conduct as just explained with what he con-
ceives to be the general content of our moral beliefs,
and he finds that that which men call morally good
conduct is exactly the same thing as what, on his first
enquiry, he found to be highly evolved conduct. His
conclusion, therefore, is that the laws of morality are
only the laws of highly evolved conduct, and that these
laws are not proper to man, but are the laws by which
nature rules the conduct of animals as well, the
difference of higher and lower being, as already ex-
plained, one of degree merely, not of kind. Let us now
fill in some of the details of this remarkable system, f

(i) spencer's definition of Ethics.
Ethics, Spencer tells us, is the science of conduct-

• " Data of Ethics," page 63.

I We are conscious of a certain want of proportion between the
space here given to the consideration of Spencer's tlioory and tlie rest
of our work. The nature and imp>ortancc of the fhcory under review
is our only justification for this defect, if it be a defect.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 375

By conduct he means purposeful external action. As
external, conduct differs from ' function — function being
purely internal. " We are concerned with functions in
the true sense when we think of them as processes
carried on within the body." But " we enter on the
study of conduct when we begin to study such com-
binations amongst the actions of sensory and motor
organs as are externally manifested." Not all external
action, however, is conduct, but only purposeful external
action. Purposeful action means co-ordinated action,
action that is adjusted in some degree to an end outside
the individual. The subject-matter, therefore, of Ethics
is " the aggregate of all external co-ordinations (or pur-
poseful actions) ; and this aggregate includes not only
the simplest as well as the most complex performed by
human beings, but also thosa performed by all inferior
beings considered as more or less evolved." Thus, on
Spencer's theory, man's action is not specifically distinct
from that of the animals below him. Man is only the
more highly evolved animal. And Ethics, though it
has to deal more emphatically with the more highly
evolved animals (including men) and their acts, has
not to do exclusively with human acts — its subject-
matter is conduct or purposeful activity, whether of
man or of animal.

(2) Aim of the evolutionary process.

Spencer now proceeds to show that conduct, just like
everything else, is subject to the laws of evolution.
Throughout the world there obtains a law of evolution.
One grade of being is obviously more evolved and, in
that sense, stands higher than another, that again than
another — the stages extending from the protozoa at the
lowest to man at the highest point of the evolutionary
series. This law of evolution extends, first of all, to
structure — the lower stages being characterised by a
comparatively simple, the higher by a more . differen-

376 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tiated, structure ; and, secondly, to function, the lower
beings possessing but few, the higher very many and
intricate, functions. But evolution of structure and
function is, he tells us, always accompanied by a third
kind of evolution — viz., greater purposefulness of action,
greater adjustments of act to ends or to environment ; in
other words, more developed conduct.

This is very evident in the case of the lower animals.
Bees, ants, horses, or elephants are evidently more
evolved, in the sense of showing a greater capacity for
securing far-away ends, than the snail and the fish.
But the very same difference in purposefulness will be
found to characterise the higher or more civilised man
in comparison with the lower or less civilised. Thus
he writes : —

"Between the shelter of boughs and grass which the
lowest savage builds and the mansion of the civilised man
the contrast in aspect is not more extreme than is the con-
trast in number and efficiency of adjustment of acts to ends
betrayed in their respective constructions."

This difference in human purposefulness must, as in
the case of the animals, be an accompaniment of
difference in structure and function. But the same
three-fold variation of structure, function, and adapta-
tion is more evident in the case of the lower animals
than in the case of men. The more evolved the animal
in structure and function the better adjusted are its
acts in relation to its environment. It is, in fact, as a
means to this finer adjustment of acts to ends and to
environment that the animal is possessed of finer and
more complicated structure and functions.

Now, what is the final aim of these powers of liner
adjustment, or (the question is the same) what is the
natural end and aim of this, whole evolutionary process ?
The end is Life — ^greater duration and greater quantity
of Life.

" The fish roaming about at hazard in search of something
to cat, able to detect it by smell or sight only within short

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 377

oistances, and now and again rushing away in alarm on the
approach of a bigger fish, makes adjustments of acts to ends
that are relatively few and simple in their kinds ; and shows
us, as a consequence, how small is the average duration of life.
So few survive to maturity that, to make up for the destruc-
tion of unhatched young and small fry and half-grown indi-
viduals, a million ova have to be spawned by a codfish that
two may reach the spawning age. Conversely, by a highly
evolved mammal, such as an elephant, those general actions
performed in common with the fish are far better adjusted to
their ends. By sight, as well probably as by odour, it detects
food at relatively great distances. . . , But the chief difference
arises from the addition of new sets of adjustments. We
have combined actions which facilitate nutrition, the breaking
off of succulent and fruit-bearing branches, the selecting of
edible growths throughout a comparatively wide reach ; and,
in case of danger, safety can be achieved not by flight only
but, if necessary, by defence or attack, bringing into combined
use tusks, trunks, and ponderous feet. . . . Evidently the
effect of this more highly evolved conduct is to secure the
balance of the organic actions throughout far longer periods "
(" Data of Ethics," page 13).

The end, then, of this whole evolutionary process is
the attainment of complete life.*

(3) Furtherance of complete life — its meaning.

Furtherance of life, Spencer continues, does not mean
its prolongation merely. It means increase of life, both
in point of duration and of quantity. " Duration "
needs no explanation. " Quantity " of life means the
" sum of the vital activities during any given interval."
Many of the lower animals live longer than man, but
they have not the same quantity of life — that is, they do
not exercise the same amount of activity in a given
time. The highest end of conduct, then, is fulness of
life in duration and in quantity, or, as Spencer puts it,
" in length and in breadth." *

It must not be thought, however, that by life as

* Spencer tells us that the promotion of life itself would not be
good unless life generally brought us a preponderance of pleasure oyer
pain, ^

378 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

natural end of conduct is meant the life of the indi-
vidual merely. The evolutionary process tends to the
furtherance of all life, and, therefore, of the social life
as well as of the individual. The lower animals are of
comparatively simple structure and function, and are
capable of comparatively little adjustment of acts to
the preservation of the life of the species. Sometimes
the 3'oung are left to the care of nature altogether, as
in the case of the Protozoa which preserve the species
by breaking up into a number of individuals. Higher
up in the line of evolution germ and sperm cells are
just ripened and sent out into water, and left to their
fate. But the higher animals go through a most com-
plicated process of adjustment in order to preserve
their young — man's efforts naturally being finest and
most complicated of all. With evolution of structure,
then, and function there goes ever a finer and finer
adjustment of acts to the preservation and furtherance
of the life of the individual and of offspring. These
two form the two first and principal kinds of conduct —
conduct, viz., directed to the preservation of the life
of the individual and of the race.

But with these two the evolution of conduct is not
complete. It is not enough for the complete furtherance
of life that the individual be preserved and the race be
propagated. We must (thirdly) not inter/ere with the
lives of others. And (fourthly) we must positively help
others even with some cost to ourselves. These last
two kinds of conduct are not only the highest — they
are also the only decidedly moral kind, or, as Spencer
calls them, the " emphatically moral " kind, because,
as Spencer explains, they are the only kind to the exer-
cise of which we need compulsion. When these four
are realised — the individual perfectly maintaining his
own life, offspring perfectly looked after and trained as
a means to a prolonged and full adult life, absolute
non-interference with our neighbour's life (implying,
therefore, a perfectly peaceful society), and the positive

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 379

extension of aid to others as a means to their better
living — then is conduct completely evolved.

Of these four kinds of conduct, however, the latter
two stand in a very different relation to the law of
evolution from the first two. For the relation of the
frst two to the process of evolution is, according to Spencer,
most evident, whereas that of the latter two is not evident.
It is not difficult to see that the first two kinds of con-
duct evolve pari passu with evolution of structure and
function. The higher animals attain individually to
greater quantity of life and maintain their offspring
more efficiently than the lower. But that cannot be
said for the third and fourth kinds of conduct. Amongst
the higher animals — that is, those of more developed
structure and function — there is no apparent desire for
the peace of society any more than amongst the lower.
Their mutual antagonisms are just as many as amongst
the lower, if they are not more numerous. Yet these
are the very kinds of conduct that are, according to
Spencer, most " emphatically moral." How, then, are
they to be got into the evolutionary series ? By a
method which most readers will find not a little sur-
prising. We are, he tells us, when we think of the
higher animals and their antagonisms, led " by associa-
tion " to think of the opposite of these antagonisms —
viz., the friendly support of one race of animals by the
other — and hence we are led to think that mutual
support, and not antagonisms, must be the characteristic
of the highest animals. Experience, he admits, does
not tell us that that is the characteristic of the higher
animals, still in the higher animals " there remains room
for modifications which will bring conduct " up to this
level, and hence these modifications must be regarded
as present when we reach the highest stage.

(4) " Evolution " and " moral beliefs."

Having, as he claims, succeeded in showing that it is
the end of the evolutionary process to procure a

38o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

maximum of life, and that this maximum is to be
attained by the four kinds of conduct mentioned — self-
preservation, preservation of offspring, non-interference
with the lives of others, and positive care for the lives
of others — Spencer goes on to show that the current
notions of " morally better and worse," as conceived,
first, by ethicians, and, second, by men in general,
correspond exactly with the notion we have just gained
of " the more and the less highly evolved " in human
conduct.

In the first place, he claims that practically all exist-
ing theories of morality accept the principle that the
" good " and the " pleasant " are one ; similarly, the
bad and the painful are one. But, on the other hand,
the pleasant is also the life-maintaining, and the painful
is the life-destroying. " Actions that are injurious to
life are accompanied by disagreeable feelings and the
beneficial ones by agreeable." Hence, the morally good
and the life-maintaining are one, and the bad and the
life-destroying are one. In his own words, " that which
in the last chapter we found to be highly evolved con-
duct " (viz., the four kinds of conduct already men-
tioned, all tending to maintain life or health) " is that
which in this chapter " (on " Theories of Good and
Evil ") " we find to be what is called good conduct,
. . . and the ideal goal of the natural evolution of
conduct there recognised, we here recognise as the ideal
standard of conduct ethically considered."

In the second place, he maintains that not only
ethicians but even ordinary men take the same view of
morality that the evolutionist takes of the gradation of
conduct. But in order to establish this second pro-
position Spencer, instead of speaking of conduct in the
abstract, proceeds to consider the various sides or aspects
of conduct, and analyses our moral ideas in regard to
each aspect.

Conduct, he says, has four aspects — first, a ph3'sical
aspect ; second, a biolo^y'ical aspect ; third, a psycho-

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 381

logical aspect ; fourth, a sociological aspect. Conduct
on its physical or outward side is external movement.
Now, the movements of the more highly developed
animals are characterised by two things — complexity
and co-ordination. The movements of the fish are few
and comparatively aimless. Those of the bird (in
building-time, for instance) are many but unified.*
So also (here we meet the first point of comparison with
our moral ideas) in the common conception of morals
the good life is always regarded as a coherent life, a
life of moving equilibrium — a life perfectly adjusted
to the whole world. There is in it neither excess
nor defect. It forms one consistent whole. In this,
therefore, according to Spencer, we have an un-
doubted parallelism between evolution and ethical
convictions.

Secondly, there is the biological aspect. All move-
ments proceed from inner functions,! and the conduct
of the higher animals is characterised by " balance of
function " — that is, one function is not exercised at
the expense of any other. So, too (comparing again),
for the common mind the good life is that in which
every function is duly exercised. J Again, in Biology,
the mark of the inner balance of functions is pleasure,
that of their discordant exercise pain. And in the
same way, turning to ethical opinion, we find that to
the common mind the good is that which brings a sur-
plusage of pleasure, the bad that which brings pain.
The parallelism, therefore, of evolved conduct and
morals is borne out by Biology.

Thirdly, conduct has its psychological side — i.e., it
proceeds from the feelings as deliberate motives of

* Spencer is wrong here — the movements on their mere physical
or external side may be many, but of themselves, that is, as physical,
they are not co-ordinated. It is the inner impulse or end that co-
ordinates them.

t Why does Spencer here introduce the inner function ? Did he
not define conduct as external co-ordinated action ?

X The value of this statement of Spencer's must depend on the
interpretation of the word " duly," which is highly ambiguous.

3 82 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

action.* The higher the animal the more complex the
feeling, and, therefore, the further away are the ends
aimed at, and, consequently, the greater is the adjust-
ment attained in reference to the whole environing
world. Comparing this with our ethical views, the
good for the common mind is always regarded as a
last end. Present pleasures are not usually accounted
good. (Departing somewhat here from the purpose of
the argument in order to explain the conception of
obligation, he adds that the faculty of " will," in so
far as it is the faculty by which we pursue far-off ends
and restrain the desire for present ones, comes easily
to be personified into the conception of an authoritative
society or even of God. Will, as a restraining faculty,
gives us also the idea of control, which in its most
abstract form becomes the idea of moral obligation.)
On the psychological side of conduct, therefore, the
parallelism is still further illustrated.

Fourthly, conduct has its sociological aspect, and
in this the parallelism is most pronounced of all. For
Sociological Evolution explains not only the basis of
the laws of conduct, but also variations in our moral
beliefs. Highly developed conduct is at once a striving
after our own pleasure and that of society. " At the
outset these ends are not harmonious." f Their perfect
harmony will be the last step in the evolutionary pro-
cess. The degree of adjustment to environment already
attained determines at each stage the laws by which
further harmony is to be secured, for, at different places
and at different times the individual stands variously

* In describing the second aspect Spencer also spoke of feeling,
but in a different connection. He there spoke of it — first, not as a
motive of conduct, but as springing from inner function ; and second,
as indeliberate. Under the psychological aspect he speaks of feeling,
not as related to function, but as related to outer action, and as de-
liberate.

t Again we notice the weakness referred to before. Spencer cannot
show that the more highly evolved animals have more care than the
lower evolved for the life or happiness of the whole race of living things,
or even of their own tribe. He simply takes the altruism ol llu- higher
animals lor granted.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 383

related to society. Comparing this with our ordinary
views of morahty we find that men's ideas of right and
wrong vary very much with times and places. For
one set of people the law is, " Love even your enemies " ;
for another, " Kill every one that is not of your tribe."
Between these are innumerable compromises. Present-
day Ethics (which Spencer speaks of as actual or em-
pirical Ethics) can do no more than study these varying
beliefs and compromises. But one day there will be a
valid absolute Ethics available — an Ethics that can
afford us absolutely valid and unchanging laws, viz.,
when the individual shall have become perfectly ad-
justed to society. Such adjustment is to be attained
by the development of the passion of sympathy, for
development of sympathy must tend to make conduct
altruistic. But sympathy is two-fold — sympathy with
joy and sympathy with sorrow. Sympathy with sorrow
pains, and therefore impairs life. Sympathy with joy
pleases, and therefore increases life. Hence, it is only
when all sorrow shall have ceased that sympathy will
have reached its full efficiency as a world-force. Then
we shall have no difficulty in doing good to others.
At present the difficulties of the moral life are many.
The good to-day is always mixed with evil. It is never
perfect good. At its best the good can at present be
only " the least wrong."

Thus Spencer claims to have shown that morality as
expressed in our moral opinions depends on evolution,
that it is only part of the universal process of evolution,
and develops concomitantly with the rest of the living
world. '

Note on Leslie Stephen's Biologico-Sociological
Theory

Before proceeding to the criticism of Biological Evolution
we have something to say on the subject of Leslie Stephen's
theories, for any account of Biological Evolution which did
not contain a reference to him would be incomplete. He

384 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

has developed the theory of Spencer on its sociological side.
Like Spencer, he starts out from the evolutionary standpoint,
and his task is to explain from that standpoint not the laws
that ought to exist, but the moral laws that do exist, or,
which is the same thing, the laws that are actually enforced
amongst us. He begins by taking it for granted that the
law of evolution prevails universally, and that therefore it
governs morality as well as everything else. " The exposition
and establishment of the theory of evolution lies beyond
the Ethical problem, and is one of the data which we must
be content either to repudiate, or (as I do) take for granted "
(" Science of Ethics," page 80). The task which he sets
before himself is that of explaining morality, or, which is
the same thing for Leslie Stephen, our moral sentiments
and beliefs, from the evolutionary point of view. Besides
taking the law of evolution for granted he also takes for
granted two other things — first, the proposition that to the
common mind the moral good and that which brings happi-
ness to society are one. " Goodness " is, he admits, a very
crude conception ; but in showing how the law of evolution
affects conduct he will also fill in this crude conception, and
thereby give us what he calls the " scientific form " of
Morality, Secondly, he takes it for granted that all moral
beliefs reduce to sentiments or feelings, that reason is " a
vast complexity of feelings," and that reasonable conduct is
a " process of forming a certain hierarchy in which the
separate special instincts " (or feelings) " are subordinated
to the more central and massive." By this last assumption
he hopes the more easily to bring moral beliefs under the
law of evolution. These three propositions are the most
essential in Leslie Stephen's ethical, system. But we caution
the student that he will not find them thus brought together
in Leslie Stephen's book, nor laid down in the same form,
nor always in the same words as those in which we have
summarised them here for convenience.

Leslie Stephen asks the question — is such a thing as a
scientific idea of morality possible ? In support of the
negative view there is the argument that a scientific idea
connotes at least some general agreement amongst men,
whereas moral opinions vary at every age and in every new
set of circumstances. But Leslie Stephen adopts the affirma-
tive view, and argues that though beliefs vary, they are not
opposed, and they are all partial views of the whole truth.
Every moral belief, he asserts, corresponds to and is true for
a particular stage in the evolution of man, and it is the
business of Ethics to pick out the underlying permanent

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 385

element in all these beliefs. This underlying element will
give us the essential notion of goodness in the abstract. It
will be the definition of the " good."

Now the good, according to Leslie Stephen, being that
which promotes the welfare of society, he proceeds to enquire
what is the relation of the individual to society. In the
first place, he holds that society is not a mere aggregate of
individuals — it is an organism. It is not, to use the language
of Biology, a mere collection of cells — it is tissue. But,
secondly, society exists previously to individuals fully made.
Individuals are formed by the social tissue and in response to
the mutual pressure of part on part of the whole organism.
How can this be ? How can mere pressure from environ-
ment form a man ? It can form him, in Leslie Stephen's
theory, because man is a mere bundle of feelings, and
feelings are aroused, altered, created, and extinguished in
an individual by influences from without. The whole pro-
cess of evolution, then, is, on this theory, a process of shaping
or adjusting the individual to society. Some conduct will
help to that adjustment, other conduct will impede it.

We are now, according to Leslie Stephen, at the point
where conduct divides itself off into good and bad, or rather
where our feelings divide themselves off into feelings of
approval for certain kinds of conduct as morally good, or
disapproval for others as morally bad. As we saw before,
goodness and badness are respectively the pleasure-producing
and the pain-producing in reference to society. How then
can we connect these two with the law of evolution or of
adjustment to social environment ? Very simply. When
the parts of a watch are adjusted to the whole watch, then
we have an efficient watch. When the organs of the body
are adjusted in relation to one another and to the whole body,
then we have an efficient body — a healthy body, and the
result is pleasurable activity. Non-adjustment brings in-
efficiency, want of health, and pain. So also acts that
further the adjustment of the individual to society are
health-producing acts. Those that prevent adjustment
bring inefficiency. Hence those acts that promote the health
of society we regard as good. Those that have the opposite
effect we regard as bad. Evolution is the process of greater
and greater adjustment of the individual to society.

Now, the acts that promote adjustment at one period and
in one set of circumstances will not promote it in another, just
as the same medicine that helps digestion at one period will
not help it at another ; and just as the effect of medicine on
the body depends largely on the previous state of the body.

Vol. I — 25

386 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

so also the effect of an action on society depends upon the
degree of adjustment of individuals to social environment
already attained. Hence our moral sentiments change with
times and circumstances. But they are all true for their own
period and their own circumstances. The moral code of one
age and country is not that of another— but all codes are
right.

The whole moral law then arises from the fact that indi-
viduals are a part of the social organism, that we are born,
not into a merely disorderly aggregate or chaotic crowd,
where any place and any act or movement would be as good
as any other, but into an organised army where, if we would
not suffer pain or even be crushed out of existence, we must
" learn to keep step and rank and to obey orders."

The moral law is therefore, according to Leslie Stephen,
" a statement of the conditions or part of the conditions that
are essential to the vitalit}^ of the social tissue," * and the
criterion by which we shall know what acts make for vitality
is their capability for advancing health. By health he means
health bodily and mental.

This, Leslie Stephen asserts, is the permanent law of
morals which is present in all our changing moral sentiments.
But, according to our author, there is another point of im-
portance. Oiir sentiments not only vary naturally from
age to age, but even from one period in the life of the indi-
vidual to another. Even the introduction of a new circum-
stance may completely alter our belief about the moral law.
We see this even in the case of good men, who to-day assert
that lying is bad, and who to-morrow will tell a lie, let us say,
to save their country, and think that they are right in doing
so. This would seem to destroy the invariability of the
moral law altogether, whereas surely a moral law must have
some stability. But, according to Leslie Stephen, the case
just mentioned does not affect the stability of the law.
For the moral law refers not so much to acts as to character,
and character does not change even where action changes.
The moral law is not " Do this," but " Be this." The con-
tent of the " do " may change, while that of the " be " remains
the same. Thus a man must always he trustworthy, but
there are times when he may and even must tell lies. Un-
trustworthiness can never help society, but it may be neces-
sary for the good of the State that a man should tell a lie,
and in that case " he will lie and lie like a man." The man,
according to Leslie Stephen, who tells a lie to save his country

* " Science oi Ethics/ pagu 148.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 387

is still trustworthy, and consequently observes the law of
trustworthiness.

Such are the central points of Leslie Stephen's theory.
Our statement of them may be found useful by a student
who is about to read Leslie Stephen's book — a book which he
will not find it easy to comprehend,*

CRITICISM OF THE ETHICS OF BIOLOGICAL
EVOLUTION

(i) Is THE Moral Law Subject to Evolution ?

We must now answer the question whether the moral
law evolves or is subject to change ? And first, does it
evolve subjectively — that is, do our conceptions of right
and wrong evolve ? Secondly, does it evolve objectively
— that is, can what is right at one age be wrong at
another, and vice versa ?

SUBJECTIVE VARIATION

In the sphere of morals we have to distinguish two
kinds of knowledge — knowledge of the basis of morals,
which we speak of as the philosophy of morals, and
knowledge of the moral code itself or of the things
which are right and wrong. Now it would be idle to
deny that our knowledge of the basis of morals is sub-
ject to variation and growth. The history of philo-
sophical speculation is largely a history of the growth
of men's ideas as to the nature and ground of goodness,
duty, rights, responsibility and the other chief moral

* There are many other forms of Biological Ethics besides those
of Spencer and Leslie Stephen. For instance, there is the naturalistic
theory of Littre, which grounds all morals in certain purely physio-
logical tendencies. The moral* sentiments, according to this author
all reduce to two things — egoism and altruism ; and those sentiments
are respectively based on the two physiological needs of self-preserva-
tion and the preservation of the race. To these sentiments Littre
adds a third, that of justice, which, strange to say, though treated
as a sentiment, is purely intellectual in character. Such theories as
these it would, we believe, be waste of time either to develop or
criticise

388 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

categories. But here we are concerned not with the
basis of moraUty, but with the moral code itself, and
our question is whether our knowledge of what is right
and wrong varies and is subject to evolution.

It is obvious that a great number of our moral judg-
ments as to right and wrong evolve, since it is possible
for man to advance in knowledge ; and we advance in
knowledge within the moral sphere in the same way as
we advance in our knowledge of the other sciences,
viz., by the acquiring of new truths. In some of the
sciences, like Geometry, advance depends on pure
reasoning alone ; in others it depends upon experience.
Our knowledge of morals is advanced in both these
ways ; for some of our judgments are derived by reason-
ing from the first principles of morals, whilst others
pre-suppose a long experience of the effects of action.
It is in this second way, for instance, that the evil of
marriage within the forbidden degrees comes to be
recognised ; without experience it would not be possible
to know that blood-relationship is detrimental to the
end of marriage, which is the maintenance of the race.

But the question arises whether our knowledge of
the first -principles of morals is subject to alteration
and increase. As yet we have not explained fully what
these first principles are, or how they are identified
and distinguished from other principles.* Let it suffice
at this point to say that the first principles of morals
concern the fundamental necessities or needs of nature,
and the question whether our knowledge of the first
principles is subject to growth is thus seen to be identical
with the problem whether our knowledge of the funda-
mental needs of our natural constitution is subject to
growth or on the contrary was present from the begin-
ning. Now whereas it is possible for man to remain
in ignorance for a very long time in regard to some
elements or aspects of our natural constitution it is
unthinkable that men could for long remain unconscious

• This is done later, page 510,

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 389

of the fundamental natural needs such as that for food,
for sex, for existence, for the racial welfare. Some of
our needs are of the nature of felt impulsions like that
for food and sex which therefore at once awaken in us
a knowledge of their presence and object, others are
known natural directions of faculties to ends, for in-
stance, food is naturally meant to sustain life, sex for
the maintenance of the race. But what ever be the
nature of the needs they all express fundamental re-
quirements of which the race would not long remain
in ignorance. And therefore the first principles of
morals, founded as they are on these fundamental needs
and appetites must have been known from the be-
ginning. Of course in this connection more account
must be taken of the means of knowledge open to
society than to the individual. It is impossible to
gauge the vagaries and the capacity for ignorance of
the individual mind. But so simple and obvious are
the fundamental requirements of nature, and so readily
and forcibly do they make themselves felt to any one
who thinks about them that most men and certainly
society at large must always have possessed some know-
ledge of them, however incomplete and ill-defined that
knowledge might be. Men might doubt, for instance,
whether a particular prohibition would hold in certain
extreme cases, but about the general wrongfulness and
deordination of lying, of infanticide, of adultery, there
could be no doubt. As we shall show later there is no
race so weak or ignorant as not to recognise evil in these
things, and the punishments with which crimes of the
kind are visited by the lowest savage races is proof of
the clearness and strength of their convictions in regard
to at least the fundamental truths.

In general then the fundamental relations and re-

//quirements of nature are easily recognised, and conse-

'quently in our knowledge of the first principles of morals

providing for these requirements there is no room for

variation or growth, except, indeed, in the very limited

390 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sense that we can acquire a more complete recognition
of the place and meaning of those principles in our
moral S3stem, and can attain to a more exact formula-
tion of them and of their distinction from other mental
assets.*

OBJECTIVE VARIATION

As regards objective variation we must distinguish
between the applications of the primary principles and
the primary principles themselves.

The applications of the primary moral principles to
individual acts must vary since the circumstances in
which these principles apply are subject to variation.
There are indeed some principles which in their applica-
tions are not dependent on circumstances. These are
cases involving the violation of some natural require-
ment no matter what the circumstances. Suicide, for
instance, is always a violation of nature's purposes f
and ends. But in the case of many precepts of the
natural law it is necessary to take full account of the
circumstances, and variation in the requirements of
the moral law is to be admitted. The law of temperance
for instance, binds all, but the obligation its application
imposes differs in the case of a health}- man and an
invalid. The law of benevolence has a different signifi-
cance for rich and poor. The widest divergence and
variation are naturally to be expected in those depart-
ments of morals that concern our social obligations, the
social relations being most fluid of all, and most liable
to continued transformation. The operation of economic
and other laws will always necessitate the periodic re-
moulding of the form of society and therefore the social
laws are subject to revision in their application at every
age.

• A fuller investigation of our present question is found in the
chapters on Intuitionism and Syndcnsis in the present volume.
I For other cases see Y^Z'^ '34 °^ present volutnc.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 391

As regards the fundamental natural finnciples them-
selves, it will be evident that they are not subject to
variation, since they are founded on the nature of man
— on the essential properties of our human nature ; and
the essential properties of human nature are not subject
to change any more than the properties of the triangle
and the laws of mechanics are subject to change.

And it is important to remember that the natural
law is founded, not on any aspect or any kind of pro-
perty in our nature, but, as we have already pointed
out, on properties of a very special kind, and bearing
a special relation to human life and existence, viz.,
our natural needs and the natural appetites on which
these needs are founded. These fundamental needs
and appetites are always present. They may under
certain conditions cease to make themselves felt or to
urge us to their object, like the appeti.e for food in the
sick or the satiated. Some appetites depend upon
certain physical conditions for their exercise. But the
natural appetites though not always operative are
always present and given the right conditions will not
fail to urge us to their natural objects. The appetites
therefore arising from our nature are permanent. The
body may change in structure,* in shape, in colour, in
stature, through influences of environment and from
other causes. But the natural appetites are essential
to the human race. No man is without them or has
ever been without them. They spring out of his inner-
most constitution and belong to him in his various
capacities as substance, as animal, as rational being.
The appetite for self-preservation and welfare, for food,
for sex, for the care of offspring are all natural needs,
and are inseparable from our humanity. They were
present in the beginning as they are present now. With-
out them, says Leslie Stephen, the race could not have

* The possibility of change even here is strictly limited. The
mechanism concerned with eating, with digestion, with circulation,
and the central nervous system must remain in the same wav as the
fundamental appetites remain.

392 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

survived a generation. And, consequentl}^, the laws that
are based upon these needs are permanent and in-
variable.

The general argument just given requires to be supple-
mented by a more detailed consideration of appetite in
relation to alteration and development.

All appetites are of the nature of faculties. Now there are
only three ways in which it is possible to contemplate altera-
tion in a faculty — first {a) the appearance of a new faculty ;
secondly {b) change of object subtended by a faculty ;
thirdly (c) disappearance of a faculty.*

{a) As regards the appearance of a new faculty two things
are clear — first, that if a radically new faculty were to appear
it would be difficult to consider it as natural, which is
generally regarded as identical with what is original and as
excluding what is adventitious in our constitution ; secondly,
development proceeds always on the basis of, and through
the operation of the existing faculties, and therefore any
faculty that might appear could hardly be regarded as
radically distinct from the others — it would rather be of the
nature of some extension or modification of them, and hence
it would not give rise to a radically new law. It is of course
difficult to set bounds by means of mere a priori reasoning
to the powers of nature. But from what we know of nature
the emergence of a completely new faculty in our consti-
tution would seem to be quite impossible. If, however,
such a thing did occur, it would at once give rise to a new
law binding to the proper exercise of the faculty in question,
and in that case the natural law (even its first principles)
would be said to vary by way of addition.

{b) The second kind of alteration alluded to above is quite
impossible and indeed unmeaning. A faculty cannot change
its essential object. A faculty may develop in such a way
as to include in its object a greater range of detail. The
eye might become capable of discerning new colours as yet
unknown. The ear might develop a greater range of hearing.
But the eye could not so alter its object as to perceive sound
or weight, and it is unmeaning to claim that the faculty of

• Sometimes a faculty ceases to be cxcrci-scd through loss of the
organ, as when vision is lost through destruction of the eye. In this
case the faculty is not really lost and it would at once rc-assert itself
if the organ were repaired or restored. In the text-note above we
refer to the complete disappcarnnce of the faculty not the suppression
of its activity,

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 393

vision could alter its act Irom seeing to hearing. It is so
also with the natural appetites. They have their own
natural objects which cannot be changed,

(c) We come now to the third kind of change indicated in
this note. The question of the complete disappearance of
a natural appetite gives rise to the two following considera-
tions : first, there are appetites of fundamental importance
in our constitution which yet are of such a nature that dis-
appearance of them would not necessarily involve alteration
in the moral law. For instance, even if the natural appetite
for food were to disappear we should still be obliged to eat,
since food is necessary to life, and every living substance
has a natural appetite for continuance in life. As long as
this appetite remains we shall be subject to the law to take
the means necessary to life. Secondly, and to this we invite
the reader's special attention, a change of constitution in-
volving the disappearance of any of the fundamental appe-
tites is not to be contemplated as possible, since, should such
disappearance occur, the race would suffer irreparable harm
and probably complete extinction. If the animal had no
natural appetite for food, for sex, for self-preservation — if it
was all the same to the animal whether it lived or died, the
race of animals could not survive. It is the same in the
case of the human species. It is through the working of the
natural appetites deep down in our constitution that our
human interests are maintained, that action is secured, that
life is regarded as worth preserving. Without powerful
natural appetites urging to the great fundamental objects
and to the things necessary for these objects the world of
life and even of human life would become a world of complete
inertia, and decay. It is evident therefore that the funda-
mental appetites must remain as long as the species survives,
and consequently that alteration of the moral law by way of
subtraction, i.e., by the cessation of its fundamental precepts
is impossible.

THE EVOLUTIONIST ARGUMENT IN REGARD TO MORALS

Having shown from the nature of morals, and the
manner in which they are grounded in our constitution,
that the fundamental principles considered objectively
do not vary in themselves, however much they may
vary in their application, we now go on to consider the
chief argument of the evolutionists, which is to the

394 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

effect, first, that morals are a part of the visible universe
which is in its entirety subject to evolution — " if the
entire visible universe," writes Spencer, " has been
evolved . . . the necessary implication is that those
phenomena of conduct, with which morality is con-
cerned, also conform " (to laws of evolution) — secondly,
that man is developed from the brute species, and
therefore that the laws of human conduct develop pari
passu with our human constitution.*

In our answer to this argument we propose to develop
three points, {a) that even if the whole universe and man
in particular were evolved the laws of morals need not
necessarily be regarded as subject to variation ; [h] that
universal evolution is an unproved assumption ; (c) that
the evolution of man from the brute species has not
been proved.

[a) Even if the hypothesis of universal evolution were
fully established we should still not be justified in
regarding the laws of human conduct as variable, for
the natural law is founded on our nature as men, and
therefore we should still be subject to it as long as we
arc men and even though the human race was evolved
from a species lower than itself. Thus even if man be
evolved, trutn :ind justice and temperance would still

* There is a second argument which it will not be necessary to
develop at great length here since it has already been considered to
some extent (page 3S7) and is treated in its various parts at ililfcrcnt
places in our second volume. This argument is based on experience
and appeals to the various changes that havjc occurred in the moral
laws recognised by society at diilerent periods in the world's history.
Now it is evident that this argument is largely inapplicable to our
present enquiry. For these changes are subjective, i.e., they represent
periods of growth in our opinions about morals, whereas our present
enquiry relates to the po.ssibility of objective variation ; secondly,
these changes largely lx;long to the applications of principles, whereas
our present discussion relates to the fundamental moral principles
themselves. Hut as regards those fundamental principles, we can
safely say that no enquiry of sociologist or of historian has succeeded
in disclosing divergence and variation either as between periods or
races such as might be used to sui)port the argument of the evolu-
tionist. On the contrary, as will be fully shown in o\ir second volume
in connection with the chief laws of morals, the moral codes accepted
by those savage races that come nearest to the primitive stock are in
closcttt correspondence with the laws accepted by civilised men to-day.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 395

be human goods and their opposites human evils ; in
other words the law of good and evil in regard to these
things would not be altered, even if man were evolved ;
the law of marriage would still be obligatory, for no
theory of the origin of man can alter the fact that the
child cannot develop itself, that for its support and
rearing it needs the help of others through many years,
that the child has a claim on those who brought it into
life to support and maintain it, and that the only parties
known to nature as bound to respond to that claim are
the parents. And marriage is nothing more than this
as we shall show fully later — the union of father and
mother for the rearing of the child. Again, whether
man is developed from the brute or not, a man has a
right to the products of his own energies, and being the
equal of other men in his natural constitution he is not
to be treated by others as mere means — in which rela-
tion is found the first principle of commutative justice.
These few examples will suffice to bring out the bearing
of our present argument. A man's duty is determined
by his human nature, by his natural faculties and their
objects, just as what is good for an animal is determined
by the animal nature. But man's nature is what it is,
and his appetites are what they are whatever be man's
histor}'. That is why in determining the moral codej
the philosopher does not ask about man's origin, whether,/
for instance, he came from the brute, whether reason isf
developed from sense, or speech from mere animal ex-
pression of feeling. These enquiries have nothing to do
with the determination of the moral code. The philo-
sopher, in setting out the code of natural morals, merely
considers man as he is, asks what his human nature is,
and what are his natural needs ; and on the basis of
these essential needs and their objects he proceeds to
build up the S3-stem of natural law. The fundamental
code therefore of human morals does not vary or evolve.
To this line of argument the objection may be raised
that it assumes the essential distinction of the human

39"^ THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

from the brute nature, whereas if man be evolved the
human and brute natures are not essentially distinct
but melt into one another gradually and imperceptibly ;
in this case human nature would only be a better brute,
nature and the laws of human conduct only the brute
laws but elevated and refined ; hence the moral law is
subject to evolutionary changes.

We answer, as well might we say that because the
colours of the spectrum melt into one another imper-
ceptibly therefore green is only another kind of 3'ello\v,
and purple another kind of green, as to say that human
nature cannot be essentially distinct from other natures
on the hypothesis that it evolves out of them and is
continuous with them. The fact is that the colours
of the spectrum are absolutely distinct in spite of the
phenomenon of continuity between its parts. So also
man's nature is distinct from that of the brute, no matter
how he may be related to the brute in origin, and the
only difficulty in the case is the difficulty of explaining,
not how our human nature can be distinct from that
of the brutes, but how of things so radically and so
obviously distinct, as we shall presently show them to
be, one could have sprung out of the other. But that
is a difficulty for the evolutionist not for us. Our con-
tention therefore is that even if man were sprung from]
the brutes he would still be subject to human laws,i
not laws befitting the brute nature, and that the moral
law for human beings is in its fundamental principles;
not subject to change.

We now go on to the second part of our discussion.

{b) Universal evolution an unproved assumption. In
Spencer's theory the evolution of morality, is as we have
said, based upon the assumption that the whole world
is subject to evolution. Now, this assumption, in order
to be made the basis of the whole theory of morals,
should itself be absolutely certain, and if it is not cer-
tain no trustworthy theory could be built upon it. We
are, therefore, justified in askin^^ is tjic assumption

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 397

certain — does it represent an incontrovertible fact ?
We claim that it is not certain, that it does not repre-
sent an incontrovertible fact, and that hence the system
of Ethics that is built upon it is vitiated and unreliable
from the very start.

No scientific assumption could be regarded as certain
on which scientists are not universally, or almost uni-
versally, agreed. But the theory of Universal Evolu-
tion is not universally agreed upon. On the contrary,
it is the theory of extremists merely, and recent investi-
gation is, on the admission of the most trustworthy
scientists, dead against it. And even the extremists
who still profess it do so, it seems to us, not because
investigation leads them to do so, but in spite of in-
vestigation, and merely as an hypothesis that may some
day be brought into harmony with the known facts.

In support of this contention it will be enough to
show, on the testimony of evolutionists themselves,
that there are gaps in nature which Evolutionary science
is quite unable to bridge over — that is, that there are
cases of species which, so far as science can ascertain,
are not evolved from any other species, but are simply,
so far as can be seen, original parts of the universe.
This having been established, it will follow that the
assumption of Universal Evolution is an unpr-oved
hypothesis.

Let us quote the testimonies of some scientists on the
question before us.

Herr Du Bois-Reymond, of Berlin University, an
avowed evolutionist and materialist, so far from ad-
mitting that science has shown that the law of con-
tinuity or of evolution is universal, declares that the
universe confronts us with seven problems or enigmas
for which science can offer no solution. These are :
(i) the nature of matter and of force, (2) the origin of
motion, (3) the origin of Hfe, (4) the apparently designed
order of the universe, (5) the origin of sensation and of
consciousness, (6) the origin of rational thought and

398 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

speech, (7) free-will. The first, second, and fifth of
these enigmas he regards as transcendental and beyond
the possibility of solution. The others in his judgment
may perhaps be solved some day.*

Of these enigmas, however, we shall here consider
only two — namely, the third and the sixth, which latter
point will be found to coincide with the third part of
our discussion relating as it does to the origin of man.

Evolutionary theory of the origin of life not certain.
There was a time when life did not exist on the earth.

" There has been," says Virchow, " a beginning of life,
since geology points to epochs in the formation of the earth
when life was impossible, and when no vestige of it is to be
found."

" There was a time," says Tyndall, " when the earth was
a red-hot molten globe on which no life could exist."

How, then, did life arise on the earth ? Professor
Huxley asserts that it must have come into existence by
spontaneous generation — that is, it must have proceeded
out of dead matter ; and he makes this supposition
because it is, he believes, the only one which is agreeable
to science. Now, for many years, and in every de-
partment of enquiry, in Chemistry, in Biology, and in
Geology, scientists have been labouring to establish this
assumption which Huxley would scarcely regard as a
mere assumption, so agreeable is it to science and the
scientific mind ; but, on their own testimony, it is not
yet nearly established, nor likely ever to be established.

" Of the causes which have led to the origination of living
matter," writes Huxley himself, " it may be said that we

• Reden von Emil Du Bois-Reymond, XIII.

We wish to state from the outset that we arc not an authority on
the general subject of Evolution. Nor is it necessary that we should
be so for the purposes of our present question. Our task is to show
that the Evolutionary philosophers themselves are not agreed about,
and arc not likely to agree about, the universality of Iwolution. The
testimonies ^jiven here arc only a few of those that mi^'ht be (luoted.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 399

know absolutely nothing. . . . Science has no means to
form an opinion on the commencement of life — we can only
make conjectures without scientific value."

And Tyndall : —

" Here, as in all other cases, the evidence in favour of
spontaneous generation crumbles in the grasp of the com-
petent enquirer." *

And Darwin : —

" No evidence worth anything has as yet, m my opinion,
been advanced in favour of a living being being developed
from inorganic matter."

Again, M. de Quatrefages sums up the results of his
own minute studies on the lowest forms of life, thus : —

" To attempt to confound these two (animate and in-
animate) is to go in direct opposition to all the progress
made for a century. ... It is inexplicable that people
should recently again have compared crystals to the simpler
forms of life." f

And Professor Virchow (the eminent Evolutionist),
speaking at the Munich Congress of 1877, said : —

" Whoever recalls to mind the lamentable failure of all the
attempts to discover a decided support for the generatio
acqiiivoca in the lower forms of transition from the inorganic
to the organic world will feel it doubly serious to demand that
this theory, so utterly discredited, should be in any way
accepted as the basis of all our views of life."

Nor are the scientists of more recent date any nearer
to the solution of the problem than Huxley and Tyndall
were.

" The more closely," writes G. V. Bunge,J ..." and the
more deeply we examine the phenomena of life the more we
come to see that processes which w^e had thought to explain

* " Fragments of Science," II., page 321.

t " The Human Species," page 3.

X " Lchrbuch dcr Physiologic dcs Mcnschcn " (1905). Quoted
from Wasmann's " Die modcrne Biologic und die Entwicklungstheoric,"
paije 245.

400 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

as results of physical or chemical laws . . . simply deride
every attempt at a mechanical explanation."

And Dr. Hertwig * writes : —

" The development of the eye and ear . . . cannot be
regarded as a mechanical process. And the same can be
said of every process of development, for everywhere we
meet with a factor which is absolutely distinct from any
form of mechanism — a factor, too, which has the principal
part to play in the cell-organism."

To the same effect we have the recent declarations of
the Evolutionary physiologist, Hans Driesch,t who now
rejects as groundless the " Maschinentheorie " which
once he defended.

" In the course of the individual development," he writes,
" all eggs have originated in the breaking up of one cell.
How can a complicated piece of machinery continue to divide
itself up in this way and yet always continue to exist ? It
is impossible, and consequently we may regard the machine-
theory as overthrown." %

We close this series of testimonies by a quotation from
Dr. Wilson, the eminent P:ofessor of Zoology in the
University of Columbia. Summing up the results of
recent science in regard to this question of the develop-
ment of life from non-living matter, he writes : — §

" It is true that we may trace in organic nature long and
finely graduated series leading upward from the lower to the
higher forms, and we must believe that the wonderful adaptive
manifestations of the more complex forms have been derived
from simpler conditions through the progressive operations of
natural causes. But when all these admissions are made and
when the conserving action of natural selection is in the fullest
degree recognised, we cannot close our eyes to two facts,
first, that we are utterly ignorant of the manner in which the
idioplasm of the germ cell can so respond to the influence of
the environment as to call forth an adaptive variation ; and,
second, that the study of the cell has on the whole seemed to

• " Universal Biology " (1906). Quoted from Wasmann, page 246.

I Sec Wasmann, pages 248-251.

J Wasmann, page 249.

§ " The Cell in Development and Inheritance " (igof)), page 434.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 401

widen rather than to narrow the enormous gap that separates
even the lowest forms of life from the inorganic world."

Everything that can be said of the relation of the
inorganic to the organic world — that history has left no
trace of any transition between them, that experiment,
wide-extending and long-continued as it has been, has
failed utterly to bridge over the chasm between them,
that the more science advances the less seems to be the
chance of finding the link that is to bind one species to
the other, all this holds with equal force in the case of
tlie relation of animal to man. History has left us no
trace of any link between them. Experiment has failed
utterly to produce out of the animal consciousness any-
thing approaching even to Reason, and the most recent
discoveries in Palaeontology have only helped to destroy
the hopes of the Darwinists that sooner or later the
earth would yield up out of its hiding-places the long-
looked-for link between animal and man.

The attempted proofs of evolutionists in this matter
are not of a very high order. Some Darwinists have
been wont to point out certain likenesses between the
sense powers of the animals and Reason as proof of the
possible origin of the latter from the former, and of the
possible future development of present brute-powers into
a power of Reason. Now, between animal and man
some likenesses are to be expected, both as regards
action and as regards knowledge. It would be a strange
thing, indeed, if sense, which is a genuine source of
knowledge, did not evince in its effects some likeness to
Reason.* But, judging from the methods of the com-
parative sciences generally, we should think that the
relation between sense and Reason is to be discovered,
not by emphasising certain very trifling points either of
likeness or of difference in the effects of these two powers
respectively, but by considering these effects in the

* The " ratio participata " of St. Thomas Aquinas.
Vol. 1 — 2G

402 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

broadest possible manner — by considering, for instance,
the general character of the works of men upon the earth
and the progressiveness of which these works are the
certain witness, and comparing them with the general
unprogressiveness of animals. And comparing sense
and Reason in this way, we find that whereas there are
innumerable races of animals in the world to-day, yet
in not one of these races is there the slightest sign of
a possibility that it will one day develop into a race of
rational beings. Man is a creature of development, the
brute beast is incapable of development. The animals
of the forest, the cattle in our fields, reach their full per-
fection before they are a couple of years old ; and that
degree of perfection which is marked out for them, not,
indeed, by their own exertion, but by nature itself, they
never seem capable of exceeding. The most intelligent
animal of our acquaintance is no nearer to producing
the simplest work of man than were the animals of
thousands of years ago. Animals have no history, and
are capable of none. They simply live and die, and of
their labour no result appears. In this inability to
develop beyond a certain point we have a most striking
proof of the impassable gulf that separates sense from
Reason, animal from man. And of this inability it is
easy to assign the cause. Sense cannot rise above the
passing individual impression. Man can think of the
most universal relations. The animal lives only from
moment to moment, from feeling to feeling, whereas for
development we have to think beyond the present, and,
indeed, beyond all individual conditions. We have to
gauge the future from the past, to consider invisible and
immaterial relations beyond the reach of sense — we have
to fashion and to follow ideals. In this we have the
reason why development is not possible for the animal
species.

Some claim, indeed, that if animals had language they
would develop just as men. But is not this an utter
subversion of the evident order in which language stands

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 403

to Reason ? Language is not the ground of Reason, but
is itself made by Reason. Language supposes a power
of thinking, of using symbols — that is, a power of ab-
stracting from the individual thing and thinking many
individual things under the one symbol. This only a
rational thing can do. Only Reason can abstract and
universalise. No animal has ever used a symbol.* It
has never known, and could never know, the meaning of
" X " or of " y " as a symbol of quantit}'. But language
is nothing else than the expression of thoughts and
things in symbols ; every word composing the language
expresses a universal conception — a conception of the
Reason ; and, therefore, Reason is the ground of
language, not language of Reason, and to claim that if
animals had language they would become like to
rational beings is to put the effect in the place of the
cause.

But our principal aim in this section is to show, not
that universal evolution is not and could not be true,
but that it is not proved or certain. And, therefore,
we go on to quote some testimonies of scientists to the
effect that the supposed evolution of man from animal
has not been established by science, but is still a mere
hypothesis.

On this point we have the decisive testimony of
Wallace, who, " while he agrees with Darwin that man
must be a descendant of apes as to his bodily frame,
maintains that his higher mental and moral faculties
must have had another origin." j

* The difference between man and animal in respect of language
cannot be the presence of the speaking mechanism in the case of man
and its absence in the animal. As a matter of fact the mechanism
and power of forming words are possessed by some animals, e.g., the
parrot. Yet they have no language which is the power to give ex-
pression to all one's varying thought. Clearly then the difference
lies in the absence of the power to form universal conceptions in one
species and its presence in the other, As we have said above, language
consists of a string of universal terms, every one of which terms the
speaker knows the meaning of, taken as a universal ; and therefore
behind these terms are universal conceptions.

I See " Darwinism," page 474.

404 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Also of Mivart, a convinced evolutionist, whose
" Reason abundantly sufficed to convince him that
there was a wider break in nature between man and
the highest ape than between the highest ape and an
oyster," *

And Spencer himself, though he does not believe that
the transition from animal to man is impossible (on the
contrary, he regards it as necessary), still seems to recog-
nise an essential difference between animal and man
when he says, speaking of certain correspondences found
to be present in movements executed by thought, that
he finds this

" higher order of correspondence in time scarcely more than
foreshadowed among the higher animals and definitely ex-
hibited only when we come to the human race." f

And again : —

" The animal's nervous system is played on by external
objects ... it cannot evolve a consciousness that is inde-
pendent of the immediate environment." Yet we know
that it is the privilege of reason to think beyond the widest
bounds of environment.

These testimonies go to show that there is something
in human Reason that could not possibly be developed
out of the animal faculties.

Lewes, also, in his " Problems of Life and Mind,"
says that

" brutes have no conceptions, no general ideas, no symbols
of logical operations."

And he regards the absurdity of thinking that brutes
could be rational as so glaring that

" we need not wonder at profoundly meditative minds
having been led to reject with scorn the hypothesis whicli
seeks for an explanation of human intelligence in the func-
tions of the bodily organism common to man and animals." I

* See " Lessons from Nature," pages 180-184.

t " Psychology," I., page 326.

J " Problems of Life and Mind," I., page 157.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 405

Miiller, also, in his work on " Physiology," clearly
lays it down that

" the cause of this difference between man and beasts does
not lie in the comparative lucidity or obscurity of the impres-
sions made on their minds respectively ; for in this respect
there is no superiority in the liuman mind. ... I am there-
fore of opinion that the human mind also would never derive
from the mere experience afforded by the senses and from
habit the general abstract idea of causality unless it had
a certain power of abstraction, &c." *

These testimonies are confirmed by recent wTiters on
palaeontology, who claim that so far at all events as that
science goes, the possibility of man having developed
from the brute is remote in the extreme. The missing
link, in spite of much energy spent in the search for him,
is still missing. And the search for him has only helped
to confirm the already well-grounded judgment of many
of the soberer school of evolutionists, who believed not
only that mind was not an evolution from sense, but
that the human body f also was not an evolution ; that
it appeared on the earth suddenly and without any pre-
cursor. Skeletons and skulls have, indeed, on various
occasions been discovered which, it was thought, sup-
plied the link, or something like the link, between animal
and man. But the results of the investigations to which
these facts gave rise were thus summed up by Professor
W. Branco (Director of the Geological-Palaeontological
Institute of the University of Berlin) in 1901 : —

" Man confronts us in the bowels of the earth — a true
noviis homo. . . . He appears to us quite suddenly in the
post-tertian period, without any forerunners. Tertiary human
remains are wanting utterly, and the traces of human activity
which it was believed the tertiary period preserved to us are
of the most doubtful character. But post-tertiary human

I remains we have in plenty ; and post-tertiary man confronts
* Vol. II., page 1349.
t Even if man's body were evolved from that of the brute, we
could not speak of man as evolved, unless Reason also was evolved

4o6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

lis — a fully developed Homo Sapiens. Most of those primitive
men had skulls of which any man might be proud. They had
neither long ape-like arms nor ape-like teeth. No, post-
tertiary man was in every way a genuine human being." ♦

These testimonies will suffice to show that Spencer
was not justified in his assumption — an assumption on
which he attempted to base the whole science of Ethics
— that the whole universe is subject to evolution, and
that the moral law, as part of the universe, must be
subject to the same.

Having considered the general question whether the
moral law is subject to evolution, and having examined
the chief arguments of the evolutionists in this connec-
tion, we now go on to consider certain other parts and
aspects of the evolutionist theory. But before doing
so we may be allowed to present to the reader one or two
expressions of opinion by recent philosophers concerning
the general principle and method of the Ethics of
Biological Evolution.

{a) Some excellent remarks on the relation between evolu-
tion of structure and the moral instincts are to be found in
Martineau's " Types of Ethical Theory." On the time re-
quirements of evolution he says : " By spinning out your
process indefinitely you gain time enough for anything to
take place, but too much for anything to be seen : in the very
act of creating the evidence, you hide it all away : and the
real result is that you make the story what you please, and
no one can put it to the test " (page 365).

• Wasmann, page 488. See also Virchow's Munich Address.

On the general question whether any one species develops out of
another it is not within our province to speak in this work. It is well,
however, to remember that the possibility of transformation of one
species into another is by no means an established fact, as the follow-
ing testimony from Y. Delage (" H6r6dit6," page 184) makes abun-
dantly evident : " Je reconnais .sans peine que Ton n'a jamais vu une
espfcce en cngcndrer une autre, ni se transformer eii une autre, et
que Ton n'a aucune observation absolument formelle dd-niontrant que
Cfia ait jamais eu lieu."

M. Y. Delage, it should l>e remembered, is an Evolutionist.

This assumption, however, that no species has ever been known
with certainty to have tU;v('lo]H(l from another, though nienlioncd
here, is, as wo have shown above, no micssaiv part of our argument
agaii.st Evolutionary Ethics.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 407

Again, on the argument from the development of organism,
he writes : " The evokition theory rests mainly on the
evidence from organisms ; and when they have been duly
disposed in the probable order of their development, their
animating instincts and functional activities are obliged, it
is supposed, to follow suit ; and it is therefore taken for
granted rather than shown that, by parallel internal history,
the most rudimentary animal tendencies have transmuted
themselves into the attributes of a moral and spiritual nature.
But the essential difference between the two cases must not
be overlooked. The crust of the earth preserves in its strata
the memorials of a living structure in an order which cannot
be mistaken . . . but . . . the fossil organ is silent about
the passion that stirred it, the instinct that directed it, the
precise range and kind of consciousness which belonged to
its possessor. ... To a certain extent there is no doubt a
definite and known relation between structure and function
in animals enabling you from the presence of one to infer the
other. , . . The jaw, the teeth, the condyles for the connected
muscles disclose his food appetite, and his modes both of
pursuit and of self-defence. But long before we reach the
problem which engages us we come to an end of this line of
inference. There are no bones, or muscles, or feathers appro-
priated to the exclusive use of self-love ; no additional eye
or limb set apart for the service of benevolence, &c."

{b) It will probably have already suggested itself to th«
reader that Spencer, like many other evolutionists, mistakenly
regards the serial order of the Universe as proof that the
higher has been developed from the lower. On this point we
have the following interesting criticism from M. Henri
Bergson (" L'Evolution Creatrice," page 393) : —

" Nous n'avons pas a entrer dans un examen approfondi de
.cette philosophic. Disons simplement que I'artifice ordinaire
de la methode de Spencer consiste a reconstituer revolution
avec des fragments de I'evolue. Si je colle une image sur un
carton et que je decoupe ensuite le carton en morceaux je
pourrai, en groupant comme il faut les petits cartons repro-
duire I'image, Et I'enfant qui travaille ainsi sur les pieces
d'un jeu de patience . . . s'imagine sans doute avoir pro-
dnit du dessin et de la couleur. . . . Telle est pourtant
I'illusion de Spencer. II prend la realite sous sa forme
actuelle, il la brise, il I'eparpille en fragments qu'il jette au
vent ; puis il ' integre ' ces fragments et il en dissipe le
mouvcment. Ay ant imite le Tout par un travail de mosaique,
il s'imagine en avoir retrace le dessin et fait la genese."

4o8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(2) Spencer's Argument from Parallelism between
Development of Structure and Function, on
THE ONE Hand and Conduct on the other —
AN Unsound Argument.*

Spencer attempts to show that human or moral con--
duct is nothing more than highly-developed animal con-
duct not only indirectly, by his assumption that evolu-
tion obtains universally in the world, but also directly,
by showing that conduct evolves pa^i passu with de-
velopment of structure and function. This argument
we have already drawn out at considerable length in
our account of Spencer's theory, and it only remains
for us now to show that the argument is unsound and
inconclusive. Leaving aside all minor points, we shall
here call the attention of the reader to that portion
of Spencer's argument in which he deals with what he
calls emphatically moral conduct (we should add, " and
emphatically human conduct ") — that is, conduct which
is, in the admission of all men, moral, as opposed to
the lower kinds of conduct which not all would admit
to be moral. In treating of kinds of conduct at all
Spencer's aim was to show that development in structure
and function is always accompanied by development of
conduct, and, therefore, by a nearer and nearer approach
in animal conduct to that which we call moral conduct
in man. This parallelism, he claims, is clearly seen to
hold for the two lowest kinds of conduct ; for animals*
of more developed structure and function are evidently
better able to maintain their own lives and the lives of
their race or tribe than other animals are. But now he
comes to deal with conduct that is " emphatically
moral " — namely, with altruistic conduct — and here he
is confronted with a gap in the supposed evolutionary
scries, which is all the more unfortunate for Spencer

• Some excellent remarks on tliis part of Spencer's llicory arc to
be found in a scries of articles in the Rcvuc Nco-Scolastiquc of igoo, by
M. J. Hallcux. This chapter was fully written before \vc had seen
these articles.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 409

that it occurs just at the point which marks the be-
ginning of the only admittedly moral stage. Animals 1
of more highly-developed structure and function dol
not tend to the more altruistic life — they do not show)
more regard for the peace and welfare of their own and
other tribes than do »those of less developed structure/
and function.

This is the fatal gap in the evolutionary series, a gap
which there is no denying. It is a vital defect, and we
are quite unable to see how any defence can be made
for it in the Ethics of the evolutionist. And we would
impress on the reader that no matter what else Spencer
may now achieve in his work, it would be wrong to
forget that he has failed to establish this thesis which
he set out to prove — namely, that with the develop-
ment of structure and function we witness a nearer and
nearer approach amongst the animals to that kind of
conduct which we call moral in men. To fail in this is to
fail in the only vital part of his whole evolutionary system.

But more remarkable than his failure to establish this
parallelism is Spencer's attempt to bolster up the theory
by getting moral conduct into line with the evolutionary
series through the law of " association " — a point to
which we have already called the reader's attention in
the present chapter, (i) He tells us that the actual
characteristics of the higher animals are not, any more
than in the lower, those of regard for life generally, for
peace, and for the helping of other tribes to live. From
this he infers (2) that " there is room for modifications "
which would make for this same desire for peace and
for altruistic action. Again, he tells us (3) that since
regard for the life of others is not the characteristic of
the higher animals, we are led " by association " to
think of regard for life as their characteristics. From
these three statements as premisses he deduces the
following conclusion : " That the highest form of con-
duct must be so distinguished (distinguished, viz., by
regard for life) is an inevitable implication." No such

410 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

extraordinar}^ argument, we believe, is to be found in
the history of Ethical Science. His words are — " This
imperfectly evolved conduct " (that is, the mutually
antagonistic conduct of the higher animals) " introduces
us hy association to conduct that is perfectly evolved.
Contemplating these adjustments .of acts to ends which
miss completeness, because they cannot be made by
one creature without other creatures being prevented
from making them, raises the thought of adjustments such
that each creature may make them without preventing
them from being made by other creatures. That the
highest form of conduct must be so distinguished is an
inevitable implication, for while the form " {i.e., the
actual form of conduct of the animals referred to) " of
conduct is such that adjustment of acts to ends by some
necessitates non-adjustment by others, there remains
room for modifications which bring conduct into a form
avoiding this and so making the totality of life greater "
(" Data of Ethics " page i8). We must remember that
Spencer is here attempting to show that the end of the
whole evolutionary process and of moral conduct is
" life." To do this he undertakes to show that develop-
ment of structure and function runs parallel with
development in the power of maintaining life. But
here we find the higher animals not characterised by any
particular desire to maintain life in the two ways which,
according to Spencer, are most " emphatically moral."
and he contends that these two ways of maintaining
life must therefore be characteristic of the highest animals.
Might we not as well argue that because the higher
animals do evince a greater care in the maintenance of
the life of their young, and since greater care suggests
hy association less care, therefore the highest animals
neglect their young ? Had Spencer already proved that
life was the end, we might then take it for granted,
without having recourse to this very extraordinary
argument, that the highest animals must have a regard
for life generally in all its forms. But he has not proved

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 411

that life is the end. That is the very point which he
has here set out to prove ; and the argument drawn
from association is necessary to the chain of proof.
His argument is, therefore, not only illogical and un-
convincing, it is contradictory in its very terms.*

Everything, therefore, in Spencer's Ethical system
that follows this extraordinary argument (it occurs
early in the book, and is, as we said, essential to the
chain of reasoning by which he attempts to connect
evolution with morals) is vitiated by his failure at this
point ; and without proceeding further with our argu-
ment against the theory of Biological Evolution, we
might on this account alone regard his evolutionary
system as a failure in its argument and its conclusions.
We shall now, however, examine some of these con-
clusions in greater detail — namely, those that concern
the end of human action and the moral criterion.

(3) Is Life Man's Ultimate End ?

We shall in this section consider Herbert Spencer's
principle that the end of man is the attainment of the
maximum of life. This principle he attempts to prove
from a supposed law of nature — the law, namely, that
the higher we mount up in the scale of animal existence
the greater the quantity of life attained. " Along," he
writes, " with greater elaboration of life produced by
pursuit of more numerous ends, there goes that increased
duration of life which constitutes the supreme end "
(page 14 " Data "). Let us see whether Spencer's prin-
ciple on this point is true. Can Spencer really maintain
that along with the pursuit of more numerous ends (the
pursuit of more numerous ends being the mark of the

* Spencer several times returns to this point, which seems to have
troubled him exceedingly. He tells us (page -i^}) that " there are
inferior species displaying considerable degrees of sociality." But
this, of course, would not prove that along with development of
structure and function there goes increased care for the lives of others.
He also maintains that sociality accompaiiits increased civilisation,
a theory which many Evolutionisls deny.

41^ THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS,

higher animals) there goes always either increased
duration or increased quantity of life ? As regards
length of life, it is certain that no such law obtains.
The elephant, for instance, lives longer than the man,
though lower in the line of organism. Some insects
more highly organised than many of the larger animals
live but a moment.

Then, again, as to quantity of life, Herbert Spencer
maintains that the higher the animal the more the life
that is lived each moment — " the sum of vital activities
during any given interval is greater in the case of man."
This we cannot grant. Man exerts a greater number of
kinds of activities than the animals, but he does not put
forth more vital energy. For instance, the dog or the
eagle puts forth more vital activity during one of its
ordinary waking hours than do most men. Nor can it
be said that the intellectual activity of the man counts
for more than the sense activity of the dog or the eagle.
Intellectual activity may be qualitatively higher, but it
certainly is not quantitatively greater than the activity
of any lower faculty. Intellect, therefore, does not con-
tribute more to the sum of vital energy expended. But
in Spencer's theory quantity is the only characteristic
taken account of. " Maximum " means that which is
" quantitatively greatest." We claim, therefore, that it
is neither evident nor true that the sum of the vital
activities is greater in the case of the higher animals.

The distinction, however, which we have just drawn
between quality and quantity of vital activity suggests
to us the true theory of the end of man and the conclu-
sion to which Spencer's premisses should really lead in
so far as they may be supposed to lead anywhere.
Development of structure and function is certainly
accompanied by advance, not in the amount of vital
activity that is put forth, but in the quality of the
activity. And because development in structure and
function is so accompanied, therefore we maintain that
the end of man must be to attain to the highest exercise

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 413

of his highest faculty — i.e., the facuUy of Reason, or to
the exercise of Reason in regard to its highest object in
the most perfect life. Not quantity of life, therefore,
but the qualitatively highest act of life will, if Spencer's
premisses are true, be our highest end. And this is the
Aristotelian definition of man's last end — the highest
act of intelligence in a perfect life. In this sense life
may be held to be man's end.* St. Thomas is interesting
on the point : " Life," he tells us, " may be understood
in a two-fold sense — first, as the living being itself
{ipsum esse viventis, including, therefore, the principle
of life), and in that sense life is not the end, for no man
is his own end. . . . Secondly, the vital operation by
which the principle of life is reduced to act, and in that
sense life ... is our end." | He adds that our
highest vital operation is to know God.

Spencer was, therefore, wrong in regarding the
maximum of life as our final end. Of course it is
possible to understand the " maximum of life " in such
a sense as to make it identical with that of the highest
act of life. It is possible, for instance, that Spencer
would regard the lower operations as of practically no
account in comparison with the higher. But we do not
think that this is Spencer's meaning, since he is all
through insisting on the quantity of life attainable. If,
however, " maximum of life " means " highest vital
operation," then we can only say that Evolution has
led us to no new conclusion. It is only Aristotelianism
in a new garb.

(4) On Adjustment to Environment as Criterion
OF THE Good

It is not always easy to say from a perusal of Spencer's
work what precisely is the part played by " adaptation
to environment " in his system. Passages could be pro-
duced from his works in which adaptation to environment

* That is, our final subjective end
\ 1^, He., Q. HI., Art. 2.

414 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

seems to be regarded as the end of all. But in other
passages he seems to regard it rather as the essential
means to the attainment of the final end. And, indeed,
in the " Data of Ethics " so strongly does he insist that
the end is Life that we believe that this second is the
proper interpretation — that " adaptation to environ-
ment " is regarded as the one essential means for the
attainment of fulness of life in length and in breadth,
and that it is in order to secure better adaptation, and,
through this, greater life, that the higher animals are
endowed with greater complexity in structure and
function. This, also, is the view taken of Spencer's
work by Sorle3\* In Spencer's system, he tells us,
adaptation to environment is connected with the end,
which is self-preservation, as " essential means." And
again (speaking of Spencer's system), he describes the
end as " self-preservation as interpreted by adaptation."

But in biological Ethics adaptation to environment is
not the only criterion of what acts are life-maintaining.
" Pleasure " and " health " are also used as criteria, and
Leslie Stephen states explicitly that the difference be-
tween the utilitarian and the evolutionist criterion is
that " the one lays down as a criterion the happiness,
the other the health, of Society." f

Now, these three factors of the evolutionary process,

* " Ethics of Naturalism."

f " Science of Ethics," page 366. We have some difficulty in
reconciling this statement of Leslie Stephen's, that the evolutionist
docs not make happiness the criterion of good action, with some ex-
pressions of Spencer, who, like Leslie Stephen himself, is certainly to
be regarded as an evolutionist. In his letter to Mill, Spencer speaks
of happiness not merely as criterion, but even as the end of all action.
In the " Data of Ethics " he represents life as the end, and pleasure
as, at least, a criterion. Leslie Stephen's assertion, therefore, is
Hcarccly true. But it contains some truth. For in the evolutionary
system happiness may be regarded as a remoter criterion, health as a
more proximate. In the utilitarian theory, on the other hand,
happiness is the more proximate. But how shall we reconcile those
passages in Spencer whicli represent at one time happiness as the
end and at aiiotiier time as means only to life ? One mode of recon-
ciliation would be to say that life in Spencer's theory is valuable
because it is essentially pleasurable. Another (and perhaps better)
possible mode of reconciliation may be found in the distinction drawn

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 415

though very different in idea, are all closely related in
the evolutionist system— adjustment to environment,
health, and life — and, therefore, it is not surprising to
find that the precise relation they severally bear to
Ethics is not always clearly indicated. But we are
safe at all events in declaring that in the Ethics of
Biological Evolution " adaptation to environment " is
at least a prominent criterion of good, since it is at
least a necessary means to the final end, and, therefore,
we shall in the present section say what is to be thought
of adjustment to environment as a criterion of good
conduct. In the next we shall say something on
" health " as criterion.

(a) We must, in the first place, admit that adaptation
to the world around us is in some sense a criterion of
good. It is certainly a negative criterion in the sense
that conduct that puts the whole world at sixes and
sevens can scarcely be good or natural conduct. The
natural is always harmonious and in the main happiness-
producing, and, therefore, its essential effect is not dis-
turbance, but rather rest, adjustment, and equilibrium.
Again, adjustment to our environment is in some sense
a positive criterion of good, for man has a duty to strive
to accommodate himself to his surroundings, to respect
the rights and views of other men and to seek their good.
For every man has much to learn and a great deal to
gain from his social environment — he owes much to it,
and should strive to make it some return. And even if
we had nothing to gain from the world it is necessaiy
that we adapt ourselves to the tone, and in a certain
sense to the ideals, of the age we live in, and in many
cases these ideals may even give rise to important moral
laws and duties.

(b) But when we have said all this, there still remains

by Leslie Stephen between the cause of morality and its reason. The
cause would ' correspond to the natural end of action, the end which
nature intends. This is life. The reason of morality would corre-
spontl to the constant individual motive or end of action, which on
both theories (that of Spencer and of Leslie Stephen) is happiness.

4i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the important consideration that adaptation to environ-
ment is not a man's whole good, nor a criterion of all
human good, and that sometimes it is even positively
evil. It is not the universal criterion of good, for many
acts are good and many are bad independently of their
relation to environment. Study is a good act, and
private immorality is bad, even though these acts may
have no relation to social environment. Often, too, it is
positively evil to adapt one's self to environment, for
though to adapt one's self to a good environment may
be good, to adapt one's self to a bad environment is
bad. In fact, universal adaptation to environment,
whether good or bad, always includes some evil ; be-
cause our social environment is made up of individuals,
and since every individual has in him some downward
tendencies it follows that environment (which is simply
the sum of a number of co-existent individuals) must
also have downward tendencies, and, therefore, unless
some refuse to accommodate themselves to environment
the whole environment must gradually become debased
in tone. It is obvious, both from experience and from
common sense, that 7nere adaptation as a principle of
conduct must necessarily mean " drift " and inactivity,
and perhaps even all-round degeneracy.

Again, the final standard of morals cannot lie in our
environment, since our final end — the perfect good — lies
altogether outside of our environment. Were our
environment to disappear, our final end would still
remain, and the moral standard should consequently
still be a reality.

Finally, the theory of adaptation as criterion of good
is simply an analogy built upon the biological laws of
the relation of cell to tissue in the living body, and
like all other analogies it may easily be, and often is,
carried beyond the legitimate limits. A cell must ad-
just itself to its surroundings because it has no end of
its own beyond the good of the whole bod3\ But the
individual man is not like a cell in the social organism.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 417

He is to a large extent an independent unit, and, as we
have said, his final end is not the good of society.
Hence, the analogy of the cell in this connection is
misleading and unjustifiable. It may, indeed, be used
for purposes of illustration. But even then it should
not be forgotten that if a cell must adapt itself to its
environment it must do so only when its environment is
a good one, adjustment to a decaying environment being
rather a cause of degeneration than of good. We should
remember, also, that, even in Biology, adaptation is
not the sole criterion of well-being. The eye has a
certain individuality of its own, and its perfection or
imperfection is not determined solely or principally by
the degree of adjustment to its environment which it
attains, but rather by its own intrinsic structure and
health. So, also, adaptation is not the supreme or the
sole criterion of the individual good.

(5) Health as Criterion of Morality

(a) As we have seen, many Biological Evolutionists
regard health as the only sure criterion of moral good.
Now, if health means the health of the body only, it
certainly is not the criterion of morality, since so much
of our life transcends the body, and common sense
would describe the healthy condition of the individual
as 7nens sana in corpore sano. But if this be the
criterion, we meet at once the difficulty of determining
what is meant by mental health. If it means a mind
which tends to truthfulness, to justice, and in general
to goodness, then the theory that health is a criterion
of goodness is little better than a tautology. If, on the
other hand, it means a clever mind, sharp, intellectual,
resolute, &c., then we can hardly see how one can speak
of good conduct as necessarily promoting health, for we
are quite sure that some kinds of good conduct do not
tend to make the race sharper or more intellectual, and
some evil kinds have no tendency to make it duller or
less receptive.
VoL I — 27

4i8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

But health of mind may be understood in another
sense. A healthy mind may mean a mind that can best
fulfil its highest functions, just as a healthy body is that
body which can best fulfil its proper functions. If
health in this sense be the criterion, then we are back
again to Aristotelianism, with just this difference that
what is in the Aristotelian philosophy represented as
the subjective end of man is here made the criterion of
good. But, then, the question arises — how are we to
know whether any course of conduct is healthy or un-
healthy in the sense explained, and, therefore, good or
bad ? Aristotle's way is simple enough. He determines
empirically what acts are natural, and these he declares
must lead to the last end, to the highest function.
Spencer may adopt the same criterion, and then the
criterion of right and wrong is nature — not health.
Or he may determine what acts are healthy (that is,
will lead to proper functioning) by the beneficial or
injurious effects of actions on the race, and then his
criterion is simply utihtarian, whereas Spencer's philo-
sophy was meant to supersede Utilitarianism.

However, we will suppose that in some way or other
Spencer is able to determine the conditions of the health
of the social organism — that is, that he is able to deter-
mine from the laws or the conditions of life what acts
are healthy and what are not, and the question then
arises, how far are we going to apply this criterion in
the determining of moral conduct ? Now, an ethical
theory or an ethical criterion must stand the test of
being applied as a universal rule. And when we apply
universally the criterion of the health of society we
arrive at a conclusion that clearly follows from it, but
which places our argument in a position which is the
negation of all Ethics. For if the health of the social
organism be our primary criterion we must apply it in
every case, and consequently we must not spare and
maintain in life the old and infirm, the stupid and the
ill-conditioned, whose only effect upon Society is to

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 419

weaken its fibre, to destroy, as Leslie Stephen would
say, " the social tissue." If health be the criterion,
then the proper directing of the struggle for existence
would involve the weeding out of all that takes the
place of good, healthy growth ; and as, in a limited
world, the old and weak and the stupid are often in the
way of healthy growth or of progress, their only fate
must be extermination. However, we believe that the
common sense of the world would revolt against the
evident injustice of such procedure, and it would revolt
also, if logical, against the Ethical system which authorises
such procedure. Hence Huxley's remark — " Since law
and morals are restrainers upon the struggle for existence
between man and society, the ethical process is in opposi-
tion to the principle of the cosmic process " (that is, the
evolutionary process, based on the law of the " survival
of the Fittest " *). And again — " It (Ethics) repudiates
the gladiatorial theory of existence." We repeat — if
the health of society be the only criterion, then the
gladiatorial theory of existence — that is, the theory of
the struggle for existence — becomes a necessity ; and
since the struggle for existence is mainly a struggle in
which the weak are worsted, then it becomes our duty
forcibly and unhesitatingly to send " life's disinherited
and condemned ones " (as Nietzsche f terms them) to
destruction, seeing that they only stand in the way of

* We should, in fairness to Spencer, remark that he has expressly
repudiated the interpretation which some ethicians have put upon the
expression " survival of the fittest " — namely, that it means " survival
of the strongest." By " fittest," he explains (" Collected Essays,"
!•) 379)> is meant " those who are constitutionally fittest to thrive
under the conditions in which they are placed, and very often that
which, humanly speaking, is inferiority, causes the survival." We
need not sa}^ however, that the criticism given in the text still holds
in spite of this explanation. If the health of the social organism is
the criterion, why should dangerous individuals survive ?

t Huxley's view of the opposition of the Ethical process and the
Cosmic process is also set out by Nietzsche. " Sympathy," he writes
" thwarts on the whole, in general, the law of development, which is
the law of selection. It preserves what is ripe for extinction ; it
resists in favour of life's disinherited and condemned ones. It gives
to life a gloomy and questionable aspect by the abundance of the ill-
conditioned whom it maintains in life.'-

420 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

healthy progress. We may, then, consider the apphca-
tion of such a test as the heahh of the social organism
to morality as a redudio ad ahsurdum of the Ethics of
Biological Evolution.

Note. — " It may be well at this point to consider what is
the best answer which, in our view, might be made to the
above line of reasoning consistently with the Spencerian
doctrine of Ethics. Our argument is that if the health of
the social organism is either the fundamental criterion or the
end of good human action, then it would be impossible to
defend our maintaining or allowing to be maintained in life
those individuals whose physical condition is necessarily a
cause of danger and even of actual evil to the social organism.

To this we can conceive a philosopher of the Spencerian
school replying in either of the three following ways : He
might say with Spencer that " the character of the aggregate
is determined by the characters of the units " (" Studies in
Sociology ") ; and from this he might draw the conclusion
that in order to secure the welfare of the social organism it
is necessary to secure the welfare of the units that make it
up, and that consequently it would not be lawful to kill off
units simply for the sake of the organism. Now, this reply,
we maintain, at once gets rid of the difficulty and the system
of which it is a difficulty ; for we suppose a case in which
the social welfare is actually and certainly impaired by the
maintaining in life of a particular individual, and if the
welfare of such an individual is to be considered before the
welfare of the social organism, then the health of the social
organism is not the end of good conduct, nor the criterion
of good.

Secondly, we may be told that though the health of the
social organism is the criterion of good, still there are certain
laws and beliefs which are ultimate, and a priori, " having
(their) origin in the experiences of the race," that these
a priori laws simply must be accepted as a starting point in
all Ethical reasoning, that Justice (as Spencer insists) is one
of these a priori laws and that the law of Justice is the law
of the " equal freedom of all men " (see Spencer's " Justice,"
page 6i). Now, this reply we should have no difficulty in
accepting, provided it be also admitted that between this
Spencerian theory of the ground of Justice and the theory
that the health of the social organism is the primary ethical
criterion there is an irreconcilable antagonism, which like
the first reply is tantamount to a denial of the Evolutionary
system altogether in so far as it bears on Ethics. We are.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 421

as we said, quite willing to accept Spencer's a priori view of
Justice and his theory of the rights of individuals for the
sake of argument, but our question is^ — how is this view to
be reconciled with the theory that the health of the social
organism is the criterion of " good " ? *

A third possible reply is that unless in general there was
an understanding that men when they become old and infirm
will be protected, the social organism could not develop,
since a feeling of security is a necessary condition of all true
systematic progress. To this argument our reply is as
follows : We quite admit that the welfare of society could
not be maintained unless there was a general understanding
that the units would be secure against aggression when
infirmity had come upon them. But in Ethics we have to
do with individual actions, and our present question is —
granted the general understanding of security, still if in an
individual case the ethician were asked in the seclusion of
his study whether it was not his duty, let us say as a legis-
lator, to obviate danger by removing a certain individual he
would not be bound to answer in the affirmative, and remove
the individual. It will be said that the proper answer in
this case would be that a man should stick to his public
assurances and save the life of him to whom protection was
guaranteed : and with that contention we fully sympathise.
Still this view of the case is not without its strange and
awkward possibilities. For it is possible that by keeping a
certain diseased individual in life the whole community
might catch the contagion and disappear, and our point is —
should we still protect the unit and let the rest of the com-
munity go, remembering all the time that the good of the
community is the criterion of right conduct and the end
and purpose of the individual life ? If we answer in the
affirmative, then the present criterion is to our mind utterly
and hopelessly negatived by our answer. If in the negative,
what about the individual right ? We have of course

• A follower of Spencer might answer the above, saying that,
though at present justice to the individual is not always best for the
Social Organism, in the state of " absolute good " it shall be best —
" The requirements of Absolute Ethics," says Sp., " can be wholly
conformed to only in a state of permanent peace." But really it is
absurd to expect us to content ourselves every time that we point
out a weakness in this and the other Evolutionary systems by con-
sidering that the criterion in question does not work well at the present
moment but that some day it will be found to work. After all Ethics
is of very little value as a science if it cannot deal satisfactorily with
present conditions.

422 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

selected an extreme case. But a fundamental moral theory
should apply to every case.*

(6) Concerning the criterion afforded by the health of
Society just one point remains — the eternal difficulty of
the individual act. If health be the criterion of morality
and the promotion of life the end, then the act that
makes now for the life of the social organism is good
and that which impairs the vitality of the social organ-
ism is bad. Now, some acts must always have the
same effect on the health of society no matter what be
the circumstances under which they are performed, like
the murder of people who are innocent. Such an act
must impair the health of the bod}' politic and lower its
vitality. But of other acts the effects are very variable,
and these acts must present a great difficulty to the
evolutionist ethician. For instance, lies and injustice
often do more good than harm, if good and harm are
to be judged by effects only, and still we speak of lies
and injustice as always bad. This difficulty is, indeed,
so obvious that no theory can afford to overlook it or
to treat it lightly, and the reader may be interested in
the following solution of it — a solution which is given
by Herbert Spencer, and which is regarded by some as
one of the most important points of his ethical theory.
He maintains that in a perfect state, and under the rule
of an " absolute Ethics," truth and justice would bring
as effects pleasure and health only ; but that in our
present state these normal and natural effects are pre-
vented by circumstances from realising themselves, find
that, so, we often find bad actions leading to pleasure
and good acts to pain. He tells us, however, that
though in our present life it is not easy to know whether
the particular act impairs health or promotes it, we
ought at the same time to be guided by what follows
normally from these acts, and that in following these

• On this question of the relation of the individual to Society in
Sfxrnci;r'.s theory \v(> wouUl recommend the reading of Cairne's articles
in the Fortnightly Review (1875) — " Mr. Sp.;ncer on Social Evolution."

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 423

rules we shall be following " courses which tend most in
the direction of the normal " (" Data," page 277).

But is not all this very unsatisfactory ? Nobody
could rationally expect that a fundamental moral
criterion should be easy of application in every case.
But it is not too much to ask that a moral criterion,
and in particular the fundamental moral criterion,
should be capable of affording plain and certain infor-
mation on most individual acts. Yet, according to
Spencer, the best information which this criterion is
capable of affording is that in our present state certain
acts will probably injure or further life, and that under
other conditions — in the ideal state — they would cer-
tainly injure or further it. Now, in reference to this last
statement of Spencer's, we have no hesitation in saying,
first, that a criterion that can in most individual cases
afford no more than a high degree of probability is not
and cannot be the fundamental criterion. And secondly,
though it may be that in the ideal state bad acts will
injure, still as a rational being with present responsi-
bilities I am interested not in an ideal future state but
in the present actual state, and it is no use telling me
what the moral quality of an act would be in such a
future state * when an action is to be done here and
now. Hence, we must regard this theory as useless and

• We know of no evolutionist who has approached this question
of individual action with more candour than Leslie Stephen. He
insists, as we do, that it is idle for the utilitarian or the evolutionist
to ignore the accidental and concrete circumstances and effects. If
acts are good by promoting the general vitality then, even though as
a rule a certain act impairs vitality, yet let it only in this case promote
the general vitality, and he " cannot see in what sense it is morally
blameworthy. To adhere to the (general) rule when the rule clearly
docs not apply is not to be moral but a moral pedant " (page 392).
He admits that this is an awkward consequence for the evolutionary
ethician, this .setting aside of the general laws. But he claims that
the ethician will simply have to be satisfied with the situation. No
general laws that we can make will, he admits, cover the morality of
particular cases. What, then, are we ethiciains to do in the case of
( oncrete action — we, whose business it is to direct other people's
conduct ? We must, Leslie Stephen tells us, by means of our general
rules, create a " fine moral taste " amongst men, and then, as the
soldier on the battlefield will, if he has genius enough, know when to
disoLey with profit to his country, so will the man of " fine moral

424 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

impracticable, since it affords us no hope of certainty
about that which most interests us — namely, the good
or evil of our present individual acts.

To sum up our criticism of this theory — Biological
Evolution is untenable because, first, the fundamental
principles of morals objectively regarded do not evolve,
they are as constant as human nature itself ; second, it
is based on the false assumption that everything in the
universe evolves, and on a supposed but unreal parallel-
ism between structure and function on the one hand,
and fulness of life on the other ; thirdly, because it
falsely represents life as the end of human action, and
health and adjustment to environment as the criterion
of good.

. ETHICS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL EVOLUTION

(l) STATEMENT OF THE THEORY

The theory of Psychological Evolution has been put
forward in a variety of ways, oply two of which can be
noticed here — that, viz., connected with the names of
Mill,* on the one hand, and that, on the other hand, con-
nected with the names of Spencer and M. Levy-Bruhl.

As we have already remarked in our chapter on
" Duty," these two theories of morality are markedly
distinct. For, first, the evolutionary process, according
to Mill, is completed during the hfe of each individual,
whereas according to Spencer and L6vy-Bruhl it will
end only with the complete evolution of the race.

taste " know when to deviate from the general law. But surely this
is a very unsatisfactory conclusion to a supposed practical " Theory
of Ethics."

* Wc do not know whether we arc justified in calling John Stuart
Mill's theory (which is generally spoken of as " associationist ") an
evolutionary theory. If it is evolutionary at all, it is evolutionary
without the element of heredity. This the reader can bear in mind
in the pages that follow. But we have called it evolutionary because
the theory represents our moral ideas as a growth or a ilevelopmcnt
(brought to completion within the lifetime of an individual) out of
aoa-moral elements.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 425

Secondly, according to Mill, the process of psychological
development begins in childhood, with the child's first
ideas of pleasure, pain, or fear. On Spencer's theory, on
the other hand, our moral beliefs had their beginnings
in far-off ages long ago, when as yet there were no ideas,
but only life in its lower and cruder forms. Nay, they
had begun to form, according to Spencer, even before
life had appeared, when as yet there existed only dead
matter and its movements. Thus did the physical fis-
sure of rocks image forth the future law of self-sacrifice
and sympathy, the dividing off of one's self from one's
interests through self-abnegation. Our present beliefs
are, according to Spencer, the result of the accumulated
experiences of all the ages — experiences that have solidi-
fied with time and become organised into moral con-
sciousness, which moral consciousness is easily awakened
into action, as Mr. Royce (another upholder of the
theory) says, by the renewed presence of any one of the
activities or experiences that went to form it in bygone
ages.*

The general principle of Psychological Evolution has
many bearings in Ethics. It is supposed to account not
only for our ideas of good and evil, but for our ideas
of obligation, sanction, merit, and responsibility. At
present we are concerned only with ideas of moral good
and evil, with our beliefs that certain actions are good
and certain others evil, and in the present chapter we
shall consider Psychological Evolution in its relation to
these ideas and beliefs exclusively.

Three preliminary remarks must be made. First, to
some the present enquiry might seem somewhat out of
place, concerning as it does the origin of moral ideas,
whereas in these chapters we are dealing exclusively
with theories of the reality, the nature, and the criterion

• Some French evolutionists — e.g., M. Fouillee — consider that
besides the factor of evolution, we must also introduce into our ex-
planation of the origin of moral ideas another factor — that, namely,
of the idee-force, a term which we have already explained in our chapter
on Duty, page 249.

426 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of good. But we believe the enquiry is quite relevant to
our present purpose ; for, if the theory of Psychological
Evolution be true, then, we maintain, there could be no
such thing as natural law or morals. This we shall show
later in the present chapter.

Our second remark (we are sure it will be readily
admitted) is that if we can succeed in disposing of the
theory of Psychological Evolution as advocated by
Spencer, then Mill's theory also will be disproved
thereby, since, if our moral ideas cannot result from
the accumulated pleasure and pain of all the ages,
including our own experience, they certainly could not
originate in the experience of the individual alone. We
shall, therefore, treat only of the larger theory adopted
by Spencer — that, namely, of the racial evolution of
moral ideas.

Thirdly, the reader must carefully distinguish between
the theory of Psychological Evolution and the Aristo-
telian and scholastic doctrine on " the effects of action —
a criterion of morality." It will be remembered that the
very first of our secondary criteria concerned the effects
of actions. That act, we said, is unnatural, and there-
fore bad, which, when raised to a general line of conduct
necessarily injures the race — its opposite is good. Now,
every scholastic will admit that it was largely by using
the criterion of the " effects of action " that our remote
ancestors would, revelation apart, have judged of the
morality of action. But between the growth of moral
ideas due to the use of this criterion and the growth
which is described by the Psychological Evolutionist
there are very large differences. In the first place,
our ancestors, according to the scholastic conception,
performed an act of reasoning in judging of the general
effect and determining by means of it the morality of
actions ; and, in the second place, the act was a con-
scious process, not subconscious or unconscious. This
conscious act of reasoning may have been formal and
explicit, or it may have been informal and impli( it,

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 427

but its logical character as a reasoning process may be
shown by casting it into the form of a syllogism thus : —
such and such acts work out harmfully for the race ;
acts that work out harmfully cannot be good ; therefore
such and such acts cannot be morally good. This
reasoning, it will be observed, presupposes the idea of
moral good and evil already possessed. On the other
hand, the Psychological Evolutionists represent our
moral beliefs as resulting, not from reasoning, but from
mere inherited associations of certain feelings with the
conception of certain acts. And, secondly, this process
of association is represented as for the most part a sub-
conscious process.

In justice, however, to the Psychological Evolutionists
we should add that they do not claim that mere experi-
ences of pleasure and pain could, unaided, form into
Ethical beliefs. These experiences, they contend, must
be driven into the brain of the race by means of sanc-
tions, public and private^ and by parental instruction —
forces which have the power of creating many associa-
tions of pleasure and pain for the acts of men, and of
transmitting such associations of feeling to posterity.

(11) CRITICISM OF THE THEORY OF PSYCHOLOGICAL
EVOLUTION

We shall now attempt to prove that this theory of
Psychological Evolution is untrue — the theory, namely,
that moral beliefs are derived from associations of
feeling, and that these same associations are created
partly by our own experience and partly by the ex-
perience of our ancestors.

And in order to establish the falsity of this theory we
shall show, first, that our moral beliefs are, some of
them, self-evident truths of intellect ; others, felt to be
equally necessary with the first, are derived from
reasoning ; that therefore our present moral beliefs
could not have been derived by association. Secondly,

428 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

we shall show that they could not be derived from
associations of pleasure and pain.

(i) Our moral beliefs are derived from reasoning.

In proof of this proposition we appeal {a) to our con-
sciousness, {h) to history, (c) to the Science of Ethics
itself.

{a) Our consciousness tells us that at present we
accept moral propositions because our intellect under-
stands the reasons for accepting them — reasons which
the intellect (at least in the case of an educated man)
is capable of explaining. These reasons are either that
the proposition is self-evident and can be shown to be
so, or because the proposition is provable intellectually,
on grounds that are perfectly definite and intelligible.
And the individual man knows that this knowledge and
the reasons for accepting it are not peculiar to himself,
for he knows that man}^ other persons accept such beliefs
for reasons similar to his. For instance, we know why
we believe murder to be bad, or lying, or disobedience,
or stealing, and we know that many other men believe
these things to be bad also, and that if sufficiently edu-
cated they would be able to state the intellectual grounds
for their belief. We admit, indeed, that many men re-
ceive their moral code merely on the authority of others.
But the belief of the disciple in his master and the conse-
quent acceptance by the disciple of the master's teaching
are sometimes found even in the pursuit of the other
sciences, and are no proof that the science in question is
not ultimately grounded on reasoning ; for this assent
in Moral or other Science is given on the understanding
that somebody has been able b}' valid reasoning to
establish the truths so believed. Could a child suspect
that nobody had ever proved the truths of Mathematics
he would not accept them. And in the same way did he
suspect that nobod}' had ever proved the truths of
morals he would not accept them. The existence, then

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 429

of authority in the teaching of n: orals is no proof that
our moral beliefs are not grounded on reasoning.

The argument from consciousness becomes stronger
when we consider that a man is able to reflect upon his
o-vn moral beliefs — beliefs that he has accepted from
childhood, and that he can and often does subject these
beliefs to examination, and sometimes questions their
validity, and sometimes even rejects them as invalid
because the grounds which once he believed to exist in
support of them he now finds not to exist. Now, the
fact that we are able to examine and criticise our own
beliefs, and that when we realise that they are not
capable of being supported by logical reasons we reject
them, is strong evidence that moral behefs generally do
not arise by association but on the grounds of reason,
which we either apprehend ourselves, or believe to be
apprehended by others.

Sometimes, perhaps, we do not question these moral
beliefs of our youth ; but the reason why we do not
question them is that our intellect is satisfied with them
and with the evidence for them. Our unquestioning
acquiescence in them is not due to heredity, as the
Psychological Evolutionist would have us believe. The
Psychological Evolutionist says that the man who
inherits beliefs sees no reason for questioning their
validity, because inherited beliefs seem always, and
must seem always, to, be intuitive or self-evident truths.
To this we reply that no truth could seem self-evident
to the human intellect simply because it is inherited.
Even if we could inherit beliefs still there is no pro-
position which we are not able to examine later and
put to the test and reject if its credentials cannot be
shown. The human intellect regards no proposition as
self-evident unless it sees that the predicate of the pro-
position is contained in the subject. If the predicate
is not seen to be contained in the subject then the in-
tellect has power to reject the proposition until such
time as it is -proved by reasoning. It is not true, there-

^30 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

fore, that the intellect is forced to regard any pro-
position as self-evident merely because that proposition
is inherited.*

(6) We appeal, secondly, to history, which supports
our theory that moral beliefs are derived by reasoning.
We can infer from history that men have always formed
their moral judgments, or at least adhered to their judg-
ments in their maturer years, on the basis of intrinsic
reasons. Any records of the past that have a bearing on
these subjects show that men do reason and accept their
beliefs on Reason. And even with regard to prehistoric
man we have no reason to think that man ever acted
otherwise. At no age in the history of the human race
was the spirit of inquiry wholly absent, and at no age
consequently were moral beliefs accepted by a kind of
blind instinct. There certainly is no evidence of such
beliefs. We must suppose that in all ages man must
have engaged sometimes in active thought, and that
he must have tried seriously to interpret the common
facts of human nature and to deduce from them the laws
that obviously befitted human conduct.

(c) Thirdly, we appeal to the Science of Ethics itself,
in which are given the jundamenial scientific reasons for
our moral beliefs. Some of these reasons we have stated
in the earlier chapters of this work, and some will be
given later, when we come to treat of special Ethics.
And our argument is that if the trained scientist is able
to give the reasons of his beliefs we should assume in
Ethics, as in every other science, that the world at large
also accepts these beliefs for assignable reasons, and not
blindly or as a result of heredity only.

We now go on to our second proposition : —

(2) Our present moral beliefs could not have been
derived by inherited associations from feelings of pleasure
and pain.

(a) Our first argument is that no mere association of

• A fuller proof of this proposition will be given in the section 2.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 431

feelings, whether of pleasure or pain or of any other
thing, could ever develop into a belief. I may, for
instance, on seeing a certain house, perceive at the
same time a certain perfume, and this combination
may be repeated so often that the very thought of the
house awakens in me the feeling or thought of the per-
fume. Yet we are not aware that this association will
ever of itself and without further reasoning develop into
the belief that the house is either the perfume itself or is
the cause of the perfume. Mere associations may,
indeed, make the thinking of a certain object necessary,
and the fact that two things occur together may make
us suspect they are causally connected. But mere asso-
ciation cannot of itsclj become a belief that one thing is
another or is its cause. This is not the function of asso-
ciation— to generate beliefs. The function of associa-
tion is determined empirically by its effects ; and its
only effect, so far as our experience goes, is found in the
fact that when any idea arises in our minds other related
ideas tend sympathetically to spring into our conscious-
ness at the same time. Mere association then could
never develop into an intellectual assent.

(6) Secondly, beliefs cannot be transmitted. A child
never seems to be possessed of ready-made moral beliefs.
No doubt, even without instruction, people must at some
time come to a knowledge of certain self-evident prin-
ciples. But of these principles there is at first no trace
in the child's thought or expression. And even later,
when these self-evident principles come to be understood,
there still appears no trace of other beliefs (beliefs as
necessary as the former, but conclusions of Reason),
which yet our ancestors have understood from the most
distant ages. The appearance of these beliefs in the
mind either of child or man is undoubtedly due either
to the exercise of the reasoning power or to instruc-
tion. On the theory of Psychological Evolution these
beliefs should be all inherited, and children, instead of
being without beliefs of any kind, should all be born

432 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

with a consciousness not only of the principles of
morals but of many of the universally admitted con-
clusions.

(c) Again, is it possible that the present moral beliefs
of the fully-developed consciousness of the adult are
only the accumulated and consolidated feelings of past
pleasures and pains ? Could the influence and the
sanctions of parents and of society cause the accumula-
tion of remembered pleasure and pain to develop into
a consciousness of our present moral code ? These
questions must be answered in the negative. Such
vices as sexual immorality have not in past ages gathered
around them a surplusage of pain so great as to cause a
hereditary belief that they are intrinsically bad. In
fact, it is doubtful whether such acts would not have
created an associated feeling of pleasure. Again, truth-
fulness is the virtue of a courageous man, because it
needs a courageous man to be always truthful. From
this it is evident that the consequences of truthfulness
are not exclusively pleasurable consequences. How,
then, could mere associations of feeling, however they
may accumulate, and however much they may have
been enforced by the sanctions of society and of parents,
develop into a moral belief that truthfulness is morally
good and not morally bad ? If our moral beliefs be
derived from associations of pleasure and pain, then,
since the effects of actions like sexual immorality and
truthfulness are mixed, our convictions should be that
such acts are morally good in part and morally bad in
part. It is possible, indeed, that society early in the
history of the race may have condemned or approved
of these acts for purposes of the general good, and thus
by its sanctions given to sexual immorality and truth-
fulness the associations of pain and pleasure which have
caused men to regard one us a vice and the other as a
virtue. But to suppose such positive legislation takes
us quite outside the theory that our moral beliefs are
due to inherited feelings. Such primitive legislation

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 433

would need, and would be prompted by an intellectual
appreciation of the consequences of those acts, and any
such intellectual appreciation is incompatible with the
Psychological Evolutionist theory of feelings and associa-
tions as the essential element in the building up of
moral beliefs. It would also need an intellectual appre-
ciation of the moral character of those acts based on the
consideration of consequences. If, then, past legis-
lators forbade certain acts they must have done so
because they perceived that these acts were bad. And
the question remains in their case as in ours — how could
mere associations of pleasure and pain generate a belief in
the ' good ' and ' evil ' of the courses we have described ?
Again, let us suppose that early legislators forbade
the acts just mentioned : it is certain that even such
prohibition could not blot out the associations of pleasure
attaching to such acts. So that we find ourselves con-
fronted again with the difficulty of the mixed associa-
tions, a difficulty which it is important we should duly
emphasise, since it touches what is central in this most
important of all evolutionist theories. We shall, there-
fore, before bringing the present argument to a close
re-state the difficulty. Each act has many and varied
associations, some agreeable, some painful ; whilst, on
the other hand, the theory that our moral beliefs arose
solely from these associations requires that the associa-
tions of what we now recognise as a good act should be
altogether on the side of pleasure, and the associations
of what we now recognise as a bad act should be alto-
gether on the side of pain, or at least that the former
should be so much on the side of pleasure and the latter
so much on the side of pain that the opposite feelings
in each case may be regarded as of no account. This
latter, we should sa}', is the more usual contention of
the Psychological Evolutionists — namely, that in the
case of what we now recognise as bad acts the associa-
tions of pain have become enormously developed, and
have excluded the agreeable associations from the con-

Vol. 1—28.

4M THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sciousness of men, and that in the case of good acts
the opposite has taken place. Now it will be quite
obvious that in such acts as stealing and lying the
pleasure-giving element (the element of profit) is quite
as persistent as the evil-bringing element, which latter
the Psychological Evolutionists suppose to have evolved
into man's concept of dishonesty. Nay, more, in steal-
ing and lying the pleasure or profit element is intrinsic —
that is, it is a natural effect, whereas the pain and the
loss are extrinsic to the act — that is, the pain is that of
social punishment only. It is the pleasure element,
therefore, and not the pain element that sHould the
more easily have become associated in consciousness
with the idea of these actions. The difficulty remains,
therefore, of explaining as the resultant of these two
opposing forces — namely, those of pleasure and of pain
— such a definite and universal belief amongst men as
the idea that we are bound not to steal and lie. We
cannot, in the light of our daily experience, suppose
that resultant to be on the side of painful associations
with such a huge preponderance as to cause men in
their moral ideas to disregard completely the associations
of an opposite kind.

{3) Theory of natural selection as applied to the psycho-
logical question of the origin of moral beliefs.

The theory which we have just criticised supposes
that association is the principal factor in the evolution
of moral ideas. We now pass to another theory of
Psychological Evolution, having as its groundwork the
law of " natural selection " and of " survival." The
origin of our moral beliefs is explained by some as a
special case of the law of " natural selection " and the
" survival of the fittest." Certain moral beliefs, it is
explained, tend to survive more than others because
they are more suitable to their human environment,
and those beliefs that survive we naturally regard as
certain, and as the only true beliefs, since none others

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 435

are left in liuman consciousness to compete with
them.

Now, before going on to estimate the truth or falsit}'
of this particular form of the theory of Psychological
Evolution, we may be allowed to remark that in one
modified sense it is possible to explain our moral beliefs
as a result of this law of survival in the struggle for
existence ; for, as we have already pointed out, it is
quite possible for men to ground their moral judgments
on experience — that is, upon the pleasurable or painful
consequences of actions in a sense already explained.
Pleasure and pain are, aS we formerly showed, a
criterion, though they are not the primary criterion, of
good conduct. It is quite possible, therefore, that our
present moral judgments may be to a large extent the
result of such experiences, that, many courses of con-
duct having been tried, it was found that some could
not be made to work on account of the consequences
that they necessarily entailed, that these courses were
then regarded as bad, and that thus our present moral
beliefs are to be explained as a survival — a survival,
namely, from many rival theories, some of which have
been discarded as unpracticable and untrue, and others
retained as workable, and, therefore, as natural and true.*

But this is not the view defended by the psychological
evolutionists now under consideration. For in the
theory just explained, and which we do not altogether
oppose, our moral views are regarded as rational deduc-
tions from " experience," and as replacing one another,
not in the sense contemplated by the Darwinian
Ethicians, whose claim is that ideas may crush one
another out of existence, just as plants or animals
crush one another out of life, some of them being
stronger in their fibre and more suited to their environ-
ment, others weaker and less suited, but in the sense

* This is to be understood in the sense already given. Conduct
that leads to evil consequences necessarily and in all sets of circum-
stances is unnatural, and the belief that such a course of conduct is
the good or the right course is an untrue belief.

436 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

that in the sphere of morals a ripened and well-founded
view may replace a crude and hasty one, or a true view
may replace a false one, just as they replace one another
in Physiology or Botany or any other science. The
following, which we take from Professor Sorley's
" Ethics of Naturalism," will, we believe, be found to
represent the survival theory of Psychological Evolution
with sufficient accuracy — in spite of a certain ambiguity
which shall be noted presently.* Having explained that
Natural Selection may have reference to three things —
competition between individuals, between groups of
individuals, and between ideas — he then goes on to say —
" Now, when the phrase ' natural selection of Morals '
is used, the reference is commonly to a conflict of this
last kind. The supposition is that different ideas and
also different standards of action are manifested at the
same time in the same community, that the}^ compete
with one another for existence, and that those which
are better adapted to the life of the community survive
while the others grow weaker and in the end disappear.
In this way the law of natural selection is supposed to
apply to moral ideas and moral standards." In this
theory, therefore, certain ideas and beliefs are regarded
as surviving in the same way as plants or animals sur-
vive— namely, as a result of a certain struggle for
existence, a struggle in which some principles and beliefs
are gradually discarded by the human mind, whilst
others that are more suitable to their environment gain
prominence and live.

Now, though this explanation seems simple enough,
■we think that, as stated by Professor Sorley, the theory
is somewhat ambiguous because it does not explain
whether particular ideas survive or disappear because
the individual or the race who maintains them survives
or disappears ; or whether the battle is a purely psycho-
logical one, a struggle between the ideas themselves, a
struggle which would take place even if the mind that

• This theory is merely explained by, it is not defended by, Sorley.

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 437

harboured these ideas were one and permanent, or even
though individual persons remained ahvays in hfe.
These t(vo possible forms of the present theory are
really distinct in principle, and we think that they
should be kept separate in our minds, even though the
results to which they lead be the same in each. We
repeat, therefore, this distinction as follows : (a) In the
first theory beliefs are represented as surviving and dis-
appearing because some beliefs and principles are so
adapted to their environment as to aid the individuals
who maintain them to live and be strong, whilst others
tend to the extermination of the individuals who main-
tain them. Thus, races that believe in the rights of
parents to rule and direct their children have a better
chance of survival than those who maintain the opposite
view, and, therefore, the views of the former have
naturally a better chance of surviving than those of
the latter. In other words, the content of men's minds
will naturally survive or disappear according as the
mind or the person that contains or maintains that con-
tent survives or disappears, (b) In the second form of
the theory ideas are represented as contending with
one another, as crushing one another out of existence in
the psychological sphere, in the same way that plants
and animals contend with and kill one another in the
physical universe. In both forms of the theory, we
admit, it is the idea or the belief that is to be regarded
as the principal factor, as the instigator in the struggle,
and as the cause of survival or of decay, since, even in
the first form, it is the idea or the belief that determines
the staying-power of the individual in the struggle, and
therefore it is the idea that decides on what side the
victory shall be. Still, as we have said, for clearness
sake it will be well to keep the systems apart, and also
to criticise them separately.

Criticism of the psychological " survival " theories.
(a) In the first form — the form, namely, which repre-

438 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sents moral ideas and beliefs as surviving or vanishing
according as the individuals who possess them survive
or vanish — there is involved an assumption that has
already been examined and rejected by us in various
parts of the present work — the assumption, namely, that
moral ideas and beliefs are transmitted by inheritance,
that the beliefs of a father are, even apart from instruc-
tion, a determining factor in the beliefs of his children,
if they are not the whole determining cause of their
beliefs. This assumption we have denied outright, and
it will not be necessary now to repeat our arguments
against it.

Another point on which we would insist in connection
with the first form of the theory — a point which has
already been explained and established in our present
chapter — is the following : our moral beliefs, even if
they have been transmitted to us by inheritance, are
always revisable by our intellects — that is, it is always
possible to reconsider them and to retain or reject them
according as they admit or do not admit of rational
explanation or proof. Hence, it is absurd to contend
that our sole reason for retaining our present moral
beliefs is that they have come down to us, the rest
having been lost with their owners in their struggle for
existence. Is it not evident from experience, and
especially from introspection, that it is in our power at
any moment to question our present moral beliefs, to
conceive their opposites, and to reject or to accept
either of these according as the proofs available for one
side or the other are stronger or weaker ? If moral
beliefs could appear and disappear with their possessors
as languages and racial features disappear with certain
peoples, then it would be impossible for us to revise our
present beliefs in this way, to ask whether they are
more true than their opposites, and more especially to
alter a moral belief on revision, a thing which often
happens in matter of fact.

(b) This same argument may, we believe, be reason-

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 439

ably urged against the second form of the theory as
against the first. If moral beliefs could struggle with
and destroy one another in the psychological arena,
say, if possible, in the racial or tribal mind, as trees
destroy one another in the forest, then it would not be
in man's power to question or to revise, to seek proofs
for or to alter his moral beliefs at any moment. And
the fact that we are possessed of such a power is proof
unquestionable that the full and final explanation of
the presence in man of moral beliefs is not to be found
in the theory of struggle and survival, nor, indeed, in
any other theory of Psychological Evolution.

Beliefs, then, we repeat, are not formed and discarded
mechanically — that is, as a result of mechanical or quasi-
mechanical laws of reaction between mind and environ-
ment, as plants and animals crush one another out of
life in the struggle for existence. Our moral beliefs are
built up by a slow process of reasoning, helped on by
instruction and tradition. But, let it at any moment be
understood that a particular belief has not been proved,
that it is merely a tradition, or that it rests on premisses
which there is good reason for regarding as untrue,
then, no matter how long the tradition and how suit-
able the judgment for success and survival in the given
environment, such a judgment or belief will be discarded
with the same ease, and perhaps also with the same
necessity, as any other judgment which our Reason
shows us to be false and unfounded.

We would also, before taking leave of our present
subject, point to two assumptions made by this theory
in both its forms. One is that in the beginning there
were no definite moral beliefs, that at some period of
our history, while some men believed that wholesale
murder and lying and cruelty and the neglect of children
were bad, others regarded them as good, others, again,
as at least as good as their opposites — that is, as in-
different— and that, finally, one set of ideas crushed the
others out of existence. Now, to entertain such beliefs

440 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

as these is opposed to all that we know of human nature.
We cannot believe that any rational being ever believed
that lying, and pitilessness, and wholesale murder were
either good or indifferent. They are too evidently
opposed to human life and progress to be considered
anything but bad. Our main beliefs then cannot be
explained by selection and survival. Secondly, in both
forms of the theory it is supposed that the true concep-
tion of morals is always the surviving conception, a sup-
position which we cannot grant, since, as Professor
Sorley points out, it happens that " in the majority of
instances the holding of false or inadequate conceptions
does not tend to weaken vitality." Hence, a belief need
not be regarded as true simply because it makes for
survival, for there are a great many false ideas which if
accepted would not tend in the least to weaken vitality,
and consequently they might survive for generations.
Vitality and survival, therefore, are not the sole deter-
minants of our moral beliefs.

For these reasons we reject the theory of Natural
Selection and of Survival as an explanation of the
origin of our present moral ideas.

QUESTION OF ORIGIN IN ITS RELATION TO QUESTION OF

VALIDITY

In concluding this treatment of Psychological Evolu-
tion we must consider Professor Sidgwick's view that
the question of the validity of our moral beliefs is quite
independent of the question of their origin. According
to Sidgwick, questions concerning the origin of our idea
of space cannot possibly affect the problem of the
validity of our mathematical beliefs. A pari, he con-
tends, there is no reason why any theory of the origin
of our moral beliefs should determine the problem of
the validity of these moral beliefs.

Now, if Professor Sidgwick were right in making this
inference hy would show that the theory of Psycho-

EVOLUTION AND ETHICS 441

logical Evolution is irrelevant to the Science of Ethics,
and it would be unnecessary to discuss it in this book.
But we differ from Professor Sidgwick on this point.
We do not deny the importance of investigating origins
for the purpose of understanding validity. We contend
that if the moral beliefs of men in general be the result
of association only, if it be understood that no man can
prove the truth of these beliefs, then we have no guar-
antee that there is anything in the objective world that
corresponds to these beliefs— that is, we have no guar-
antee of their validity — they may be purely subjective.
In Ethics, therefore, as in other Sciences, we regard
our beliefs as valid, either because we ourselves or
somebody else has proved them true. Else we should
not accept them.

Professor Sidgwick's argument from our beliefs in
Geometry we regard as fallacious. Questions in regard
to the origin of our idea of space may not, indeed, affect
our beliefs in Geometrical propositions, but questions
as regards the origin of our belief in the principles of
Geometry may and do affect the question of validity.
If, as Mill asserted, our belief in the axioms of Euclid is
merely due to association of ideas, if these axioms are
not self-evident in the sense of the predicate being con-
tained in the subject, then we have no guarantee that
these axioms are true, or that the propositions that
depend on these axioms are true. Again, if our beliefs
in the propositions of Euclid be due to association
merely, if it be understood that no man had established
their truth by reasoning, then, again, our belief in these
propositions might not be valid — they might be purely
subjective. In the same way, if our moral beliefs be
due to association merely, if we cannot prove them to
be true or show them to be self-evident, then their
validity at once becomes doubtful — they may be purely
subjective. Hence, the question of the validity of our
moral beliefs is not independent of the question of their
origin.

CHAPTER XIII
ETHICS OF TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION

{a) STATEMENT OF THEORY

To describe the various forms of the theories known as
theories of Transcendental Evolution would be out of
the question in a w^ork like the present. On the other
hand, to give a combined account of them, an account
that would embrace the features common to them all,
W'Ould be a very difficult, if not an impossible task.
Still w^e feel that it would be a great help to the student
if, before attempting the study of these theories, he had
some general conception of their character and purpose,
even though this general conception were inadequate
and required to be modified afterwards in order to fit in
with any one particular theory. It is with this end in
view that we offer the reader the following brief account
of the Ethics of Transcendental Evolution, an account,
we confess, which is meant to correspond more with the
Hegelian than with any other system, since it is in this
system that all transcendental theories are supposed to
culminate.

A definition will be more easily framed when we have
compared the theory of Transcendental Evolution with
the theory of Biological Evolution. The theory of Bio-
logical Evolution is an empirical or a posteriori theory.
It is built upon a supposed phenomenon of the world of
sense, a phenomenon which is discovered by sense —
namely, that of the physical universe, as evolving, as
passing from a less perfect to a more perfect state. The
whole orderly system of the firmament is, we are told,
an evolution. The stars and planets, the sun and the
earth are all evolutions from the one original primal

442

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 443

substance. On earth higher species evolve from lower.
Conduct also evolves according to certain laws, as is
evident from comparing the structure and habits of one
animal species with another, and also the habits of one
grade of human civilisation with another. And the
laws which we thus find to govern the evolution of
conduct can, according to Spencer, be made to serve as
a ground of morals, since morally perfect conduct is
nothing more than highly evolved conduct. The
method, therefore, of the Ethics of Biological Evolu-
tion is in the main empirical and inductive or a posteriori
— it is founded on experience.

The theor}^ of Transcendental Evolution is the very
reverse of all this. In the working out of this theory
Reason may be guided to some extent by analogies from
the senses ; it may even depend to a very large extent
on experience and on the use of the historical method ;
but the method of the theory of Transcendental Evolu-
tion is primarily a priori. It is based not on an ex-
amination of particular objects, but on the highest and
most universal of conceptions — that, namely, of the
Absolute.* The Absolute (whether regarded as sub-
jective or objective or the ground of both) is that
ultimate Being, from which all things are derived, in
which all things subsist, and of which they are merely
parts or phases — it is the ground reality of the Universe,
and from it and out of it, are evolved all laws and
relations.

This Absolute is described as first unfolding itself,
differentiating itself (according to laws which our Reason
discovers a priori in the very conception of the Abso-
lute) into the various particular objects of the universe,

* Philosophers vary in the account they give of this ground-Being
of the Universe. With Fichte it is purely subjective. It is the Ego.
With Schelling it is absolute indifference of subjective and objective.
With Hegel it is more fundamental than either subjective or objective,
and the ground of both. The method of Hegel's system is usually
known as " dialectic," but as dialectic this method is a priori or de-
ductive, not a posteriori.

444 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

both mental and phj'sical, and then, secondly, moving
on towards its own fuller and fuller realisation through
the re-identification of these same particulars with itself,
until in the end they become absolutely one with it.
This whole process may be described, following some
defenders of this theory, as first a movement from
negative (or abstract) to positive infinity — that is, from
undifferentiated or potential infinity to differentiated or
actual infinity, and then a movement back into the real
infinity which embraces the undifferentiated and differ-
entiated Absolute in one complete reality.

Now, morals, we are told, form one portion of this
process — one phase in the development of the Absolute — ■
and under " morals " we are to understand not merely
the laws of conduct but our views of those laws, also the
moral customs and institutions in which those views are
enshrined, and which are themselves the objective ex-
pression of the moral law. The Ethics, therefore, of
Transcendental Evolution we may define as the theory
that moral laws and moral opinions and customs are a
gradual development out of the Absolute, that the' good
is any act (or rather any state) which realises or repro-
duces the Absolute in things — which fits in with the
process whereby the Absolute principle of the universe
brings into closer and closer identity with itself the par-
ticular objects and ends of the universe, into which it
has differentiated itself.

But, besides the theories of pure transcendentalism,
theories which deduce the moral law from the mere
conception of the Absolute (for instance, the theory of
Hegel and Bradley), there are other modified theories,
which, though based on metaphysical conceptions
similar to those of Hegel's, still make positive and
express use of experience in the formulation of the laws
of morals, and even follow the historical method not as
a secondary method, as is the case with Hegel and
Bradley, but as the primary and essential method of
Ethics. Such a modified form of Transcendentalism is

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 445

that of Green.* Like Hegel, Green regards the Abso-
lute as slowly unfolding or differentiating itself into the
manifold of particular objects, and through this process
of differentiation approaching gradually the final end,
which is complete Self-Realisation or the state of com-
plete positive unity of the Absolute consciousness with
finite things. What that self-realisation consists in, or
how we may directly promote it in ourselves. Green does
not claim to know. But he believes that we can know
the direction in which this supreme end lies by examin-
ing the line along which humanity has been developing
up to the present moment, since, according to Green, in
continuing to follow that line of development which has
brought man to his present elevated condition we must
necessarily approach to the true and final ideal of human
conduct, and thus we shall indirectly, if not directly
and consciously, be moving to our final end. Green's
theory, therefore, is in great measure, if not principally,
an empirical theory.

NoTE.f — This brief description of the Transcendental
theories we must now fill in by describing in some detail one
or two of the best known of these systems. We select for
special mention the theories of Hegel and Green, of whose
systems we shall give a very brief account.

Kegel's ethical system

Like most Ethical systems Hegel's begins with an analysis
of will. Will is the faculty in which morality resides. It is
not a distinct faculty from thought. Will and thought are
but two functions, the one conative, the other cognitive, of

* Prologomena to Ethics. In his admirable little work on " The
Philosophy of Green," Professor Fairbrother expresses the same view
of the method of Green which we give in the text above — namely,
that it is essentially a historical method. From self- reflection we
get the idea of the good — we fill in the content of this idea by an
examination of history.

f Since the text -note above is not necessary for the understanding
of the argument that is to follow, and since the matter of the note is
from the nature of the theories described in it obscure and difficult,
we should advise the reader who has not previously gained some
knowledge of the Transcendentalist systems from works on the History
of Philosophy to pass over the note and proceed to the argument,
page 451.

446 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

mind. Will is " thought translating itself into reality " (that
is, tending to an end outside thought). Now, Ethics is the
science of the freedom of the will, for goodness is freedom,*
and therefore the " account " of moral goodness is the
" account " of freedom. What, therefore, is freedom ?
Freedom means self-determination. " It is will which
through thinking gives itself direction and end, whose object
is itself, which therefore is independent of everything and
every person outside itself. Will is free intelligence." f But
the self is, in Hegel's philosophy, not what Kant represented
it to be — mere Reason or pure will — the self is made up of
Reason and Sense, will and desire. And since pure Will is
the universal will, and desire {i.e., the wish for pleasure or
for sense-objects) the particular will, or the will of the indi-
vidual, so self-determination means the identification through
conduct of the individual desire and the Universal Will.
The individual can realise his full self, Hegel maintains, and
thereby fulfil his duty by furthering this identification, by
realising the Universal in his own partiulcar will. Not,
indeed, that nature is waiting on individual caprice for its
realisation of particular and Universal. For already par-
ticular and Universal are identified in Society or the State,
and all that the individual does in fulfilling the moral law
in his own case is to participate in this process of identifica-
tion of particular and Universal, the identification of par-
ticular and Universal being not only the end of all but the
underlying principle and the very Being of all reality. In
the moral sphere the State is itself this process of identifica-
tion— not the result of the process but the process itself —
for in the State is realised the identification of the many and
the one, and the form of their unity is Universal Law. The
State is the realisation of the whole self of man, particular
and Universal, Will (that is, pure or Universal Will) and
Desire, J Reason and Sense. " The State," writes Hegel,§
" which is the realised substantive will having its reality in

• This doctrine, it will be remembered, Hegel borrowed from Kant.
See chapter on Freedom, page 209.

t Jodl, " Geschichtc der Ethik," II., page 108. This unification
of Reason and will which is so opposed to the philosophy of Schopen-
hauer is also to be found in other philosophers — for instance, in
Herbart. According to this latter philosopher, the law of the will —
the moral law — is grounded not in will itself, but in the judgment.

J The particular will with Hegel means " particular wish for

f>articular object," and as object and subject are one in his system,
t also means particular subject.

§ " Philosophy of Kight " (translated by Dyde), page 240.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 447

the particular self-consciousness raised to the plane of the
Universal, is absolutely rational. This substantive unity is
its own motive and absolute end. . . . This end has the
highest right over the individual whose highest duty in
turn is to be a member of the State,"

Following then these three headings of the Universal Will
or Universal Self, the particular Will or particular Self, and
the Absolute Self * or the State, Hegel, in the " Philosophy of
Right," divides his Ethical system into three parts. In the
first he treats of Universal Will or abstract Will, " Will with-
out individual interests or responsibilities." This is the
sphere of abstract right, for ' theory of right ' or ' justice '
is that domain of Ethics in which no account is taken of
individual conscience or individual responsibility. The man
who discharges his debt, discharges it whether he intended
to discharge it or did not ; and he who has not paid what
he owes is still a debtor even though he may not be blamed
for not discharging his debt. In the second part Hegel
treats of responsibility, sin, conscience, moral good and evil,
and everything in the sphere of Ethics that characterises
the individual will as opposed to mere abstract Right. The
Good Hegel here defines as the " idea of the unity of the con-
ception of the Will (i.e., the universal will) with the particular
will." It is therefore the realisation in man of the Absolute
Self. In the third part he treats of " Absolute Will," of
that, namely, in which the identification of particular wills
with the Universal Will, of nature with freedom is actualised.
This Absolute Will he calls " Ethical system," " Ethical ob-
servance," " Ethical Custom " — i.e., that outer system,
observance, or custom which at once enshrines the moral
beliefs and principles of the human race, and has actually
become a law to the world. In the common system of law
and custom, particular and universal are made one. This
Ethical system is the Absolute. Ethical observance or
system has three forms into which it develops in order — viz.,
the family, the civic community, and the State. The perfect
form is the State ; it is the end of all and the beginning and
ground of all. The State is even the underlying principle of
matter and movement, for it includes all things ; but as
underlying principle of the evolutionary process of all things,
including matter and movement, the State does not manifest
itself to us as a State. As the underlying principle of all we

* Hegel calls the State the Ethical Idea. " Idea " with Hegel
sic^nifies the concept made real, or the universal made real by iis
identification with particulars.

44S THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

should call it not " State " but the " Absolute " simply. As
" conscious of itself " as " will which thinks and knows itself,
and carries out what it knows in so far as it knows," it is
called State. Yet these two — the State and the Absolute —
are one. The State is Absolute Spirit. " The State," writes
Hegel, " is the spirit which abides in the world, and there
realises itself consciously ; while in nature it is realised only
as the other self or the sleeping spirit. Only when it is
present in consciousness knowing itself as an existing object,
is it State." The rule of conduct, therefore, is to obey the
State, not this or that particular State, but State in the
abstract, or what Hegel calls the essential moments of the
State.

green's theory

Of Green's theory we can only give the barest outline :
Nature, according to Green, is unity in plurality. It is
primarily and essentially plurality, because its elements are
distinct. It is secondarily unity, because nature implies
unity. All plurality implies relation of some sort, and all re-
lation implies unity of related elements. Nature itself being
primarily plurality, and there being nothing in plurality itself
to make it one, so the principle of unity cannot lie in nature.
That which unites two things in one must be distinct from.
the two. It must, therefore, lie in Mind. Now, feeling
cannot be the unifying principle, for feelings are many, and
they exist themselves in relation to one another, and there-
fore they themselves require to be unified by something
higher. Neither can states of consciousness be the unifying
principle, for they, too, stand in relation to feeling being
distinguished from it, and besides they are changeable and
are many themselves. Consciousness itself, therefore, is the
principle of unity, not the passing consciousness that
exists and thinks in time, but the Eternal Unchanging
Consciousness, the timeless Self, which is one and whole in
all things. States of consciousness may change, but con-
sciousness itself does not. Pure consciousness then is the
only unconditioned thing in nature. It exists before all
things else, and constitutes them all. It is the root principle
of the world, and, being the only thing unconditioned by
anything extrinsic to itself, is the only originally free tiling
and the principle of all derived freedom. Just so far then
as the Eternal Consciousness exists in any object, so far is
that thing free and good.* As phenomenon man can never

* Again, the Kantian principle that freedom is goodness.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 449

be free, because as plienomenon he is merely part of the
world, and is therefore conditioned. But he is free in so
far as this eternal princij)le is in him working throughout his
empirically conditioned knowledge, and yet itself not em-
pirical but intelhgible. Such realisation of the Eternal
Consciousness is plainly possible in thinking subjects ; but
in bodies it is realisable only in so far as they approach the
state of thinking subject — i.e., in so far as they are organised.
Man, in so far as he is thinking subject, can participate
internally in the Eternal Consciousness, but as phenomenon
he exists, like everything else, only as object of self -conscious-
ness. As phenomenon he is not one with absolute self-
consciousness, yet exists by it. Man, therefore, can be free
in so far as he is one with the Eternal Consciousness — as
noumenon and subject. But how, it may be asked, can
man be free even as subject or noumenon ? Does not the
will determine itself by objects outside, and is not determina-
tion from without the very opposite of self-determination or
freedom ? Green answers this question in the negative.
The will, no doubt, must in every act present to itself an
object outside itself to be desired. But the will is neverthe-
less not determined or moved by such object but by the idea
of the object, which idea lies within the mind and will.
Even then, in his desires for outward things, the free being
is self-determined.

Now, in this Eternal Consciousness and its extension to
man, there are three grades or stages — viz., knowledge, will,
and desire. Knowledge requires no explanation. " Desire "
is mere solicitation to an object known as distinct from the
" ego." " Will " is the actual choice of such object. The
" good " in general is that which satisfies desire ; the moral
" good " in particular is that which satisfies the moral agent
as such, and the moral needs are satisfied and the good
realised so far as the agent approaches the state of the think-
ing subject — that is, so far as he participates in the Eternal
Self-consciousness. And as this Eternal Self-consciousness
is the constitutive principle of all things, moral good is the
same thing as self-realisation, the self-unfolding of the eternal
consciousness in our empirical finite consciousness, and the
consequent identification of our own personal consciousness
with the Absolute.

From " the good " Green passes to the idea of duty. The
reflecting subject is conscious of wants, and from this it
easily proceeds to the consciousness of its intended objects.
Traversing therefore the series of wants which the self dis-
tinguishes from itself, " there arises the idea of satisfaction
Vol. I — 29

450 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

on the whole," an idea never reahsable, but ever striving to
reahse itself in the attainment of a greater command over
means to the final end, or to the full satisfaction of particular
wants. This idea of satisfaction is equivalent to " our good
on the whole," and as it represents nothing real but only an
ever unrealisable ideal, it presents us with the idea of what
" should be " as distinguished from " what is." This idea
of " should be " is " obligation." The moral good then being
that which will satisfy the whole of desire, and not any mere
particular desire, is that which will satisfy the Eternal
principle of Consciousness within us, that principle through
which all finite things are parts of the one timeless unity ;
and as this eternal principle of Consciousness is alone capable
of representing to itself the totality of all desire, the good
must finally consist in our identifying ourselves with the
Eternal Consciousness, and the consequent promotion of its
final end. What the final good is we can never know in
itself ; yet we know that it is the end of all motion, all desire,
and all progress. We can therefore come to know it practically,
if not theoretically — that is, we can know the direction in
which it lies and the means by which it is to be attained by
discovering the direction in which the Eternal Consciousness
has already been progressing, just as we should discover the
whole structure of a thing by examining a cross-section of
it. Following out the line of progress that has brought man-
kind to his present elevated position in the finite world we
are sure to be travelling towards the final end of all, and of
promoting that end, even though we do not ourselves
personally reach it.

The final end is the unconditioned good. What the un-
conditioned good is Green cannot say. If you ask me, says
Green, what this unconditioned good is, I can only tell you
it is what the good will seeks, and if you ask me what the
good will seeks, I can only tell you it is the unconditioned
good. This argument is a vicious circle, as Green admits,
but it is one that arises necessarily out of the case. It is a
fallacy, he maintains, but a justifiable fallacy, since in the
system which he inculcates, the same thing is both means
and end — and we can only define the end in terms of its
imperfect realisation in the means.

The end, therefore, though unknown, may still be furthered
by the adoption of tlie means that lead to it. Tlicse means
are our existing laws and institutions and the line of develop-
ment that has led to them. Following this line of develop-
ment we shall keep ever approaching to the end more and
more closely — but wc can never reach it.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 451

(b) CRITICISM OF THE ETHICS OF TRANSCENDENTAL
EVOLUTION *

(i) Our first point of criticism will concern the general
theory of Transcendental Evolution that all things are
an evolution from a single Unity, named by the Tran-
scendentalists the Absolute. (2) Our second point con-
cerns the theory that morality. is only a phase in this
supposed universal process of evolution. (3) Thirdly,
we shall briefly refer to some of the main points in the
two systems described in our text note.

(i) Evolution, if it exists, and so far as it exists, is a
fact of nature, a movement of things from a lower con-
dition to a higher, and, Hke any other movement, it,
and the laws which direct it, if such laws exist, should
be capable of being seen or discovered by our ordinary
faculties of apprehension and of Reason. We have no
more right to postulate the existence of an evolutionary
law in nature which we have not seen or proved than we
have to postulate the existence of fruit or leaves in iron,
or a faculty of thought in stones, or any other such
unexperienced phenomenon. Also the extent of evolu-
tion, if a law of evolution should be shown to exist, is
to be determined not by a priori reasoning nor by
arbitrary imagination, but by actual empirical investi-
gation and reasoning upon observed phenomena. We
must not extend the law of evolution to stones since we
do not see them evolving, nor assume that a dead plant
still grows and evolves when it is too plain that it
cannot now do so. Evolution, if it be true, is a fact,
and facts must be either seen or proved before we can
assume their existence or build our reasonings upon

* We warn the reader that he ought not to expect too much in
the way of positive refutation here. It is easy to formulate theories
that are not grounded on any fact of experience or principle of Reason.
But often it is not easy by positive argument to refute such theories.
Nor is it necessary to do so. Sensible men will always be content
if it is shown that a theory is not supported by satisfying proofs
either deductive or inductive — in other words that it is merely assumed
and imaginary.

452 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

them or explain anything by means of them. These
are only the plain requirements of Reason and common
sense, and they are necessary presuppositions of any
science, whether physical or moral.

Now, these presuppositions are flatly contradicted by
the system of Philosophy which we are at present con-
sidering. For, in the first place, the Absolute itself,
which is supposed to be the ground unity of all exist-
ence, in which all things subsist as parts or moments or
phases — whatever be the name we give to the individual
things within it — is a gratuitous hypothesis. It is
neither seen, nor felt, nor is its existence proved by
reasoning upon observed phenomena. It is not neces-
sary as an explanation of any admitted facts. It is
itself not only a contradiction, but a sum of contradic-
tions. For instance, it issues particular judgments and
the opposite of these judgments at one and the same
moment in different people. It not merely exists in one
man and m another, but it is one and the other.* It is
also the unity of both and at the same time their
diversity, for unless it is everything that is, it is not
the Absolute. It is one and simple, for through it all
things are reduced to unity, and yet all things are parts
of it and subsist through it — subsist through it and com-
pose it even in their diversity. It is, therefore, one
and many secundum idem. On this impossible concep-
tion is grounded the theory of Transcendental Evolu-
tion.

Again, as the Absolute itself is something merely
imagined, so also is the evolutionary process by which
it develops into the manifold objects of the universe
merely imagined. But imagination is not the proper
instrument of empirical science, nor, indeed, of any
science, and we have no right to postulate the existence
of an evolutionary process in the world unless we can
see it definitely at work or can prove its presence by

• " A separation between tlie Absolute and finite Beings is meaning-
less " (Bradley, " Appearance and Reality," page 418).

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 453

our Reason. Everything in this world is either a
development from some perfectly definable thing not
the Absolute, or it has not developed at all. The plant
grows from the seed, the seed is shed by the living
plant. There the process of evolution is complete and
circumscribed. There is no doubt about where it begins
and ends. The plant can only develop out of the seed,
the seed is a development of the plant alone. Neither
develops out of any other thing. If the process of
development began at all it began with the making of
one of these two things, not with something which is
neither plant nor seed. Nature presents many such
circumscribed evolutionary processes in living things.
We may even, for the sake of argument, allow that one
species develops out of another. But every such
evolved thing develops out of some definable thing
upon this earth, and not out of any other thing, it
develops from something which we can see or know
and that from which the known objects of this world
develop is certainly not the Absolute. But thousands of
things never develop, and could not have developed
out of any other thing. There is nothing in the Uni-
verse, then, that offers the slightest ground for believing
either that all things evolve or that all things have come
from one thing, particularly from one absolute thing
which we do not know, and which is full of contradic-
tions, a thing which still maintains its unity whilst it
is the ground and inner Being of the manifold things
into which it has evolved.

We should remark, however, that the transcendental
evolutionists not only suppose the existence of such a
universal process of evolution as is here described, but
actually describe the laws according to wliich it takes
place, which laws they deduce not from observation, but
from the conception of the unknown and unintelligible
Absolute itself, such as the law formulated by Hegel
that each thing passes into its opposite, only to return
upon itself again in its higher form of the unity of its

454 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

former self and the opposite of its former self. These
laws do not require further discussion. An imagined
Absolute evolving according to imagined laws cannot,
we venture to suggest, be accepted as the ground and
principle of any science, much less the natural science
of Ethics.

(2) This brings us to our second point. Morality, we
claim, is not a phase in the supposed e\'olutionary
process of the Absolute unfolding itself into the mani-
fold objects of the Universe. This proposition we
might establish according to a variety of considerations.
The following two will suffice : {a) Morality is an
attribute of the individual person. It is the individual
person that is under obligation to do certain things.
It is the acts of the individual that are good or bad.
The individual alone is morally responsible for his
acts. There is no common receptacle for the moral
responsibilities of the acts of different men. Our
responsibilities are not interchangeable nor continuous
with one another. My responsibilities are my own,
as my wishes and actions are my own. Now, if the
ground reality of all men be one, and if the " good "
means identification with this ground reality, then my
responsibilities are not my own, for, a common sub-
stance can originate only common responsibilities. (6)
Again, a moral being directs and controls his individual
acts. But if all men and all actions are but necessaril}/
evolved phases of one original object or condition, then
I no more control my individual actions than I control
my own existence or my entry into this world, and
hence I am not more moral than animal or tree or stone.

Morality, then, is not a phase in the evolution of the
Absolute into the manifold objects of the Universe.

(3) We shall now briefly criticise the chief point of
the two Transcendental systems given above, as to the
nature of the good — namely, Hegel's view that the good
is the identification of the particular with the universal
will or the State ; and Green's view that the good means

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 455

the reproduction of the Eternal Self-Consciousness in
us through approach to the final end of the Eternal Self-
Consciousness, or to that end which will supply the
totality of wants. Our criticism of Green will also
include other references to his theory of man's final
end.

Hegel's View — (a) We have already clearly shown
that the good is not and cannot be identity of or rela-
tion of any kind between the particular and the uni-
versal will or the State.* The good individual will is
the will that tends to the final natural end of the indi-
vidual, not the will that identifies itself with any other
will, even though that other includes the individual
will. Even then, if it were certain that what is called
the universal will was good in itself, an individual will
would still be good only in so far as it sought the natural
ends of its own individual natural capacities. Hence,
goodness cannot consist in fulfilment of the end of the
universal will.

(6) The good will of an individual man is individual
and particular. For it is the same will which is
responsible for evil and which merits by the doing of
the good. Now, the evil will is, on the theory of the
transcendentalists, essentially particular, essentially un-
identified with the Universal (the Universal cannot be
evil), therefore, the good will is particular also, and is
not identified with the universal will.

(c) There is no such thing as a universal will. There
is no abstract State comprising in itself all individual
States and the ground of all. All existing States and
all existing wills are particular. This we have had
occasion to remark more than once before in this work.
To prove this proposition would, of course, be quite
outside the scope of a work like the present. But the
reader will, we think, not need proof to understand this
at least, that the existence of a universal will such as is
supposed by Hegel is a pure hypothesis, that it could

♦ See previous chapter, page 32 j

456 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

not be established by reasoning, and that consequently
an Ethics built upon such a theory can never have more
than a suppositional value.

(d) But whether a universal will exists or not, an
identification of particular and universal wills, of my
own with the eternal will by individual effort, is a sheer
impossibility. Identity of end might, indeed, be theo-
retically possible — that is, their ends might be made con-
formable to one another, but identity of being would not
be possible even theoretically. For the Absolute Will
and the will of the individual are not only different
entities, they are the very contrary of each other. One
particular will could not become identical with another
particular will, a fortiori it could not become identical
with the universal will. There is a sense, indeed, in
which a universal is recognised in the singular even
according to the teaching of Aristotle — namely, by
participation. In this sense a universal is realised in
all the singulars that participate in it, as whiteness is
realised to some extent in each white object. But it
never does and never could become identical with the
particular. Nothing can be identical with its contrary.
This latter principle, that " nothing can be its contrary,"
Hegel would, of course, deny ; but we think we are safe
in assuming it, and if we are not allowed to do so then
argument becomes impossible, since otherwise no term,
and no proposition, could have any meaning.

Hegel's theory, therefore, of identification of universal
and particular is quite different from Aristotle's theory
of participation, and whereas the latter represents a
truth of common sense, the former is a contradiction
and impossible. There is no conceivable sense, then, in
which Hegel's theory of the individual effort to make
the individual will identical with the universal could
represent anything even theoretically possible. Much
less could it be made a practical rule of morals.

Green's View. — Green's theory contains the following
assumptions : {a) That the " good " consists in the

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 457

reproduction of the Absolute or Divine Consciousness in
ourselves : (b) that we can reproduce this consciousness,
and therefore be morally good, by the realisation, so
far as lies in us, of the end of the Absolute ; (c) that
the final good is not actually attainable, that we may
always continue to move towards it, but never reach
it ; (d) that the final end is not itself knowable, but
(e) that it is possible to move towards this end by con-
tinuing to follow the same line of development which
human law and human institutions have followed in
the past, those laws and institutions which have brought
man and society to their present perfection.

{a) To the fust of these assumptions we reply — if the
Absolute or timeless Self * is the principle of all that is,
if everything is but a phase of the Absolute, then the
Absolute is present in or is reproduced in every desire
and in every object ; and since, according to Green,
the " good " is the reproduction of the Absolute it
follows that every object is a good object and the desire
of every object is a good desire. On Green's theory,
therefore, a distinction between good and evil acts is
quite impossible.

On this point — that is, on the relation of the Absolute
to evil (the evil under consideration being certain selfish

* The metaphysical question of the existence of an Eternal Self
immanent in the world cannot be fully discussed here. Some salient
remarks concerning it are given in Prof. Taylor's " Problems of Con-
duct," page 70. " What evidence then," he writes, " does Green
supply which leads us to affirm the underived character, not merely
of consciousness, but of the ' self ' ? As far as I comprehend his
reasonings all the evidence for this important transition is afforded
by the consideration that a series of related events cannot possibly
become aware of itself as a related series." Taylor's criticism of this
argument is, taking Green's premisses that the series could not know
itself as a related series for granted, the following : " All that has
really been proved aboat the relation of the knowing self to the time
series is that it is not one of the presentations which succeed one
another in the course of our experience — in fact, that the centre of
our personal identity is, relatively to the changing presentations which
I make up the series of our perceptions and thoughts, permanent in
time, not that it is eternal or independent of duration." As it stands
no argument could more faithfully reproduce the Scholastic view of
the soul or knowing subject than Prof. Taylor's argument.

458 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tendencies in man) — Sorley writes * : " Green does not
even ask the question whether these " (tendencies to
exalt selfish interest over common welfare, tendencies
which, as we say, Sorley considers evil) " are not to
be considered manifestations or reproductions of the
Eternal Self-Consciousness. But his metaphysical view
does not exclude them, and, if they are included,
morality disappears for lack of a criterion between
good and evil. If good is to be discriminated from
evil it must be by some other means than by describing
the whole conscious activity of man as a reproduction
of the divine."

Professor Sorley points out that Bradley is more
consistent on this point than Green, since Bradley,
who, like Green, regards the good as in a certain sense
the realisation of the absolute, " brings out the conse-
quences which in Green is more or less concealed that
the evil equally with the good in man and the world
are appearances of the absolute." f

Evil, therefore, is, if Green's theory be consistent,
quite as much a part or as much a development of the
Absolute as the " good " is, and hence the good as
opposed to evil cannot consist in the reproduction of the
Absolute. We can also urge, in opposition to Green's
theory of the good, the same arguments by which we
have already disproved Hegel's theory that the good
consists in the identification of the individual and
Universal or Absolute Will.

{b) To Green's second assumption we reply : A man's
good must consist in the attainment of his own end,
not in the end of something other than himself — that
is, wc determine the good of the individual by a con-
sideration of his own individual capacities. Now,
whether or not the ends of our individual capacities
are identical with the aims of the universal conscious-
ness Green does not determine, and consequently it is

• " Recent Tendencies in Ethics," page 99,
f Ibid., page loi,

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 459

not lawful for him to assume that the good of the indi-
vidual consists in the promotion of the aims of the
universal consciousness, even though the individual be
included in that consciousness.

(c) To the third we reply : The good or the end is
the fulfilment of a natural capacity — and since nature *
does not give a capacity for an object that cannot be
attained, it follows that the end of man is attainable.

Again, the ends of all inferior beings — for instance,
of trees and animals — are attainable. But if the end of
a tree or animal is attainable can we hold that the end
of man is unattainable — that the highest thing in
nature is the only unfinished thing ? If, therefore, on
Green's theory, man's good is unattainable, then the
" good," as Green conceives it, cannot be man's good.

(d) The final end of anything is the final end of its
highest capacity. Thus the final end of a tree is not
growth but flowering and seeding. So also the highest
end of an animal is the end of its sensitive powers, since
sense is the highest capacity of an animal. In the same
way the final end of man must be the end of his rational
will, since will is our highest appetite. But the end of
the rational will must be something which the intellect
is capable of conceiving, for the will can desire and tend
to that only which the intellect can conceive. Hence,
the final end of man is conceivable by man.

(e) We move, according to Green, towards our final
end (even though we can never reach it) when in our
conduct we follow the line of development which marks
the history of conduct in the past.

Now, the difficulties here are many — (a) Has there
been development ? We claim that it is impossible, so
far as the primary laws of nature are concerned, to find
any line of development in the history of past human
conduct or human laws. Even M. Levy-Bruhl (an
ardent evolutionist) admits that the essential laws were
the same in the days of Egyptian greatness that they

♦ For explanation of this principle see pages 72 and 86,

46o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

are to-day. We have, however, ah"eady said that the
derived precepts of the moral law may change. We
know, for instance, that monogyny is more universally
practised now than it was in the days of Aristotle. But
are changes in the secondary laws of morals due to
evolution ? We believe not. It seems evident from
history that these changes have been effected in the
main not by evolution but from the two following
principal causes : First, because with time and ex-
perience we have learnt to think more truly about
human needs, and how they are to be satisfied, than
we formerly did : also we consult the higher needs,
those, viz., of the civilised life, more fully than was
formerly the case : and, secondly, because of Christ's
positive teaching. Of these two reasons the latter is
perhaps the principal. But Christ's teaching was not a
result of evolution. There was nothing in previous
history that could logically be said to have led up to
it ; nothing, for instance, that led up to Christ's Sermon
on the Mount, or to His teaching on marriage.

Whatever advancement, therefore, has taken place in
morals and moral ideas as regards the secondary laws
or the laws of greater human perfection is not to be
explained by evolution. The change that has taken
place in our moral ideals is, in the first place, a change
from false to true, from inadequate to adequate thinking
on good and evil, and second, a change consequent on
the introduction of Christ's positive teaching.

{^) The necessity for a moral criterion is not a neces-
sity of to-day only. It was a necessity for Aristotle
and for ethicians and legislators before Aristotle. Yet
Aristotle did not follow Green's criterion. He deter-
mines what is good for man, as we do, by an analysis
of human nature and its needs, not by an appeal to
previous history. Nor docs he refer to anyone before
him who appealed to history for the determination of
the moral law. Rules of conduct, therefore, have been
determined not from previous conduct, but from Kcason.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 461

In other words, in the formulation of the moral law,
Reason does not follow history, but makes it.

(7) All that has been said in proof of our view already
given, that in framing the moral law we must follow
certain rational criteria, is itself proof that the method
of Ethics is primarily a method of rational deduction,
and not the historical method — that is, that the moral
law cannot be determined exclusively by any reference
to past human conduct as such or to past development.
But Green's theory is essentially grounded upon the
historical method.

These are only a few of our reasons for rejecting
Green's evolutionary theory.*

NOTE ON THE TRANSCENDENTAL-EVOLUTIONIST VIEW OF
SELF-REALISATION

" Self-Realisation," in the works of transcendental
Evolutionists, is used to signify the realisation or
development of the " Total Self " of the individual —
that is, the attainment of the ends of the " Total
Self," and (in this theory) the Total Self includes,
besides the individual selves, the " Universal Self,"
which, we are told, is the true Being of the individual.

Our view of this theory, as we have already said, is
that common sense refuses to recognise the individual
man as being one with the " Universal Consciousness "
or " Universal Humanity." The Universal Conscious-
ness is not the man's " self." The self is simply the
rational individual. Destroy the rational individual — a
thing which is neither inconceivable nor metaphysically
impossible — and you destroy a complete self. The self
is the principle of thought and action. It is that which

♦ At the conclusion of this long argument on Evolutionary Ethics
we may be permitted to point out that it was impossible for us to
notice every argument for and against the Evolutionary theory, but
we have tried to bring out the main points on each side, and we hope
that our argument will be suggestive to students in their further
readings on this subject.

462 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

thinks and acts. But only the individual can think and
act. It is not tree-in-gcneral but this tree that grows
and decays. It is not self-in-general or a universal self
but this particular self that thinks, desires, and moves.
The self, then, and the individual man are one ; and
self-realisation, if such a thing is possible, will be the
realisation, in some way, of the individual rational
man.*

If by self-realisation is meant the attainment of a
natural end outside of ourselves, then self-realisation is
not only a possible end to man but is also his bounden
duty. But to transcendentalists self-realisation seems
to mean something more. It seems to include the
realisation of our constitutive substance. But this is
evidently not our end, as we saw in our second chapter.
Our bodies may, indeed, grow in substance, but the
body is not our highest end. Our soul does not grow in
substance. Its only realisation is the fulfilment of its
natural capacities, and the end of our highest mental
capacities lies, as we saw, beyond the self. Apart, then,
from the realisation of — that is, the attainment of —
ends beyond ourselves it is absurd to speak of the
realisation of the self as our final end.

There are senses, then, other than that of the Trans-
cendental Evolutionists in which self-realisation is some-

* Other Ethicians also besides the Transcendentalists insist that
the individual as such is never a self, that the only self is the person.
They draw two distinctions between individual and person. First,
that the individual is as such purely egoistic, whereas the person or
rational being is altruistic also. Secondly, that the individual is,
as such, simply a number of unrelated impulses, whereas the person
is in himself an organised body of impulses, and, in relation to others,
is a part of the larger organisation of society. With these writers
self-realisation means realisation of the person, and, therefore, of the

Krson as altruistic. (Prof. Seth is one of this school. See his " Ethical
inciples," page 205.) These writers also claim that, as individual,
man wishes for pleasure only, but that, as person or rational being,
he is determined by the conception of duty.

Now we have no hesitation in saying that the contrast here drawn
between the individual and the person is wholly groundless. The
person is simply a rational individual ; but Reason is an individual
faculty in cacli man, and every act of reason is individual. The
rational self, then, is essentially individual.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 463

times possible, and there are senses in which it may be
said that self-reaHsation is a duty. This leads us out-
side the discussion of Transcendental Evolution, but it
will be useful to explain what precisely is implied in
" self-realisation " in so far as it is really our end.

Self-realisation is our end in so far as it imphes the
attainment by man of his end as a rational being. When-
ever we attain an object or end it may be said that we
" realise ourselves," inasmuch as we realise the fulfil-
ment of a capacity of ourselves. Perfect self-realisation
means the perfect fulfilment of our natural capacities
by the attainment of the ends of those natural
capacities. Now, what precisely is implied in the
realisation of our natural capacities ? It includes two
things, (i) The use of our faculties for their natural
ends only. (2) The use of them not as separate and
unrelated faculties, but as the parts of an organism.
In this sense to realise the self means simply to act up
to the natural laws of the self. This sense of " self-
realisation " has been very well brought out in a note
on Aquinas' " Summa Contra Gentiles " by Father
Rickaby. Writing of the actuality of the Infinite, he says
" It does not follow from this " (the actuality of all
God's powers) " that human perfection is perfect self-
realisation in the sense of every power being realised
to the utmost. The powers of man are many, not all
of equally high quality. The utmost realisation of one
might and would interfere with the realisation of
another : the baser might be brought out to the loss
of a nobler and better ; the perfection of man is a
harmony of powers, which implies both use and re-
straint of them severally according to the excellence
of their several functions. In man, much must be
left in potentiality if the best actuality that he is capable
of is to be realised. In an orchestra, where every instru-
ment is played (or brayed) continuously at its loudest,
the result would be din indescribable, a maximum of
noise with a minimum of music. Perfection is actuality

464 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

up to standard. In a finite nature the standard imposes
limitations according to the AristoteHan canon of the
golden mean, a canon not framed for the infinite." *

As Rickaby says, in realising the capabilities of any
organism, " much must be left in potentiality." It is
plain that in any one man each and all his capacities
cannot be exercised in their fulness. A man could not
exercise his capacity for knowledge in all departments
of knowledge. No man could be ph3^sicist, mathe-
matician, metaphysician, historian, &c., though most
men have capacities for all or many of these things.
But, is a man bound to, at least, a partial exercise of
every natural capacity ? This question is answered by
Aquinas, who distinguishes between capacities that
appertain to the good of the individual and those that
appertain to the good of the race. Not every individual
is bound to the exercise of the latter kind of capacity,
except in the case of danger to the race. For instance,
ordinarily, no individual man is bound to marry ; the
good of the race, indeed, requires marriage, but the
attainment of this end is imposed as an obligation on
the human race as a whole, not on each individual. But
every individual is bound to make some use of those
capacities which appertain to his own good.f The law
of self-realisation thus outlined by the scholastic philo-
sophy is founded not on any mere metaphysical hypo-
thesis like that of the Universal Self in man, but on the
organic nature of man as empirically known to us.

* Rickaby — " God and His Creatures," page 22, note.

t Many of our capacities are only a means to other capacities, and
provided these latter capacities are duly exercised we cannot see that
the capacity which is only means must necessarily be exercised.
Eating is only a means to self-maintenance, and if a man could secure
this end without recourse to food we cannot believe that he is strictly
bound to cat. In one sense all our faculties are only a means to our
highest end, and provided that a man can develop personally and
can also fulfil his duties to the race without exercising a particular
faculty, we do not see how we can constrain a man to exercise it,
particularly if by its non-exercise he has a better chance of doing
some other greater good and a consequent better chance of attaining
his final end. See Vol. II., page 392, nute^

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 465

Also, unlike the theory of the Universal Self, the
scholastic theory affords us a practical criterion of
good.

CONCLUSION

We have now passed in review some of the principal
evolutionary theories of Morals. We have examined
Spencer's system and shown that moral conduct is not
highly evolved animal conduct, that the final end is
not increase of life, and that the " good " is not the
same as " adaptation to environment." In our ex-
amination of Psychological Evolution we showed that
our moral opinions are not evolved from associated
feelings of pleasure and pain, and that whatever change
may have taken place in our moral opinions that change
is not to be regarded as an evolutionary change from
mere sensible association between feelings to intellectual
appreciation of principles, but simply as a change from
false to true thinking. In our account of Transcendental
Evolution we showed that moral goodness is something
that belongs to man as individual, and not to man as a
mere phase of a universal consciousness underlying the
whole world. We showed also that self-realisation in
the transcendentalist sense is not the end of man.

One remark we may make in addition. All Evolu-
tionists suppose that we are gradually approaching the
final end of man, an end to be realised (in so far as it
ever will be realised) on this earth, and that when we
shall have reached it, evil shall be no more. That any
such end shall ever be attained in this world, or that it
shall be attained here or elsewhere by any system of
natural evolutionary forces, is, we claim, neither proved
nor probable. Our final end lies in another world, as
was proved in the second chapter of this work, and it
can only be attained by individual moral effort.

Man is, indeed, a being of development and of pro-
gress, but his progress is not to be secured by blind and
irresistible laws of evolution pressing him on whether

Vol. 1 — 30

466 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

he wishes it or not to some unknown end. Man is a
self-directed being, and development consists in our
freely doing the good, or in our freely moving to our
final end. Our final natural end is known to us. It is
the Infinite Good, and this end can only be obtained
by our freely observing the natural law both in the
individual and in the public life.

APPENDIX ON THE ETHICS OF SPINOZA AND OF FICHTE

Though not themselves evolutionary systems, still it may
not be out of place at this point to give a brief sketch of two
very different yet cognate theories, the Ethics of Spinoza and
the Ethics of Fichte, so closely are these theories related
to the systems we have just criticised under the name of
" Transcendental Evolution." Our accovmt will be merely
historical and not accompanied by anything in the nature of
philosophical criticism.

APPENDIX A. — Spinoza's * system

Spinoza's theory of " geometrical Ethics " is an attempt to
deduce the laws of morality from the single conception of
" substance " according to the strictest laws of reasoning. It
is called " geometrical " because of its analogy with the
science of Geometry, which out of the single conception of
space derives the whole complexus of geometrical laws accord-
ing to the strictest reasoning. What space is to Geometry,
Substance is to Ethics. Substance is the original ground of
all existence, that through which all things exist and of which
they are the manifestation. Human acts and the human
character are but " modes " into which the original substance
differentiates itself according to the inner necessary laws of
nature. The Ethical laws therefore — the laws of the perfect
human character — are necessary laws, and the human act
and character themselves are necessary and not indifferent.
What " ought to be " means " what is." The " moral power
of right " means " actual physical power." There arc no
ideals other than the actual facts which make up the actual
world.

• A translation of the Ethica of Benedict de Spinoza is to be found
In I3ohn's Philosopliical Library. In our account of Spinoza's system
given above wc have made frequent use of Martincau's work " Types
of Ethical Theory."

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 467

Passing by his purely metaphysical theory of Substance,
Attributes, and Modes, and their relation to one another, also
his account of knowledge and its degrees, we come to his
first ethical conception, which is the transition from knowing
to doing. " Doing " or action is an effect of that inner law
of conatus in things whereby every thing tends to persist or
maintain itself in being. This conatus or tendency to self-
maintenance belongs to the inner essence of things. It is
the " will " of things, and since will and intellect are not
really distinct, so conatus is not really distinct from logical
affirmation and negation. Will or conatus is the dynamic
causality of thought. It is no other than the life of things,
and since it springs from the being itself and presupposes
no " otherness " — no causality from without — it is, in so
far as it is put forth by our adequate ideas, our freedom —
freedom, that is, not in the Aristotelian sense of power to
do or not to do, but in the Kantian sense of self-determina-
tion. In so far, however as this conatus is put forth by
inadequate ideas or imagination it is feeling. " Freedom,"
" pure understanding or Reason," " self -conservation," these,
in Spinoza's system, are all one thing.

" Pleasure is the feeling in which the mind passes to
greater perfection, pain that in which it passes to less."
" Pleasure heightens while pain lowers the self-conserving
conatus." " Good " and " bad " mean respectively helps
and hindrances to self -conservation, and their marks or tests
are respectively pleasure and pain. In feeling that a thing
is pleasurable, we know it is good. Pleasure is the satisfac-
tion of desire, and desire is the " conatus of our essence to
assert " and maintain itself. And since the central element
of our essence is " understanding " the perfect life will con-
sist in bringing " all the proper functions of our nature, as
active, to one — viz., to understand or know." Love of
knowledge is the " sole autonomous affection and the sole
virtue." And, therefore, the special virtues which this
includes may all be reduced to one — namely, to " act from
the inward essence of mind alone " or "to stand free from
the sway of the passive affections," which is the same thing
as " firmness and steadfastness of character " or fortitude.
But the highest grade of perfection is gained when the under-
standing removes itself completely from outer things, and
thus having rid itself of the element of " inadequacy " in
idea which comes of this outemess, it contemplates itself
as inner essence, and also that which is its inner cause, the
underlying basis of all differentiation — that is, God. In
this exercise of discovery the mind is aware of its own in-

468 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tclligent power, and feels glad in the successful action of its
nature. And this gladness is referred to its cause — viz., to
the reality or truth which is discovered — i.e., God, who com-
prises in Himself all reality and truth. Now, pleasure re-
ferred to its cause is love. Therefore, this self-knowledge is
the love of God. Intellectual love of God is, in Spinoza's
view, the culminating point of human excellence, into which
Fortitude " becomes sublimed, and where it reaches its
repose." * But, for this " love of God," which is our highest
activity, we are not to expect any return, since God, having
no affections, neither loves nor hates.

APPENDIX B. — FICHTE's SYSTEM f

Fichte's system is not evolutionary. But since in the
science of Ethics he attempts to deduce the whole moral law,
without the mediation of any presuppositions whatever, from
the mere conception of an " Ego " or self-consciousness, it
will be convenient to give some account of his system here
since there is so much that is common to it and the tran-
scendentalist theories just considered. The moral law is, in
Fichte's account, the law that arises essentially from Ego.
The starting point of Ethics is, according to Fichte, that the
Ego itself is given to itself — i.e., is perceived directly by
itself. But if an Ego is to know itself, it must know itself
as object, and since as knowing Ego it is only subject, there-
fore it is not in its capacity as subject — that is, as perceiving
— that it becomes an object, or is known to itself, but only
in its other function of willing. As knowing it is subject.
As willing it is object. This, Fichte expresses in the phrase —
" I find myself as willing." But the Ego as known to itself
directly and immediately as ivilling is not known necessarily
as willing anything beyond itself but only as ivilling , but as
it must will something, so it is given immediately and neces-
sarily in consciousness as willing itself and as willing from
itself, as self-determined — as free. The idea of freedom,
therefore, is contained necessarily in the very idea of a self-
conscious ego. And this conceptual necessity — the necessity,

• Intellect and will are ascribed by Spinoza to God not as Natura
Naturans, or, .substance as eternal, but as Natura Naturata, or, what
follows from the eternal necessity of the Divine Nature.

I l-'ichte's system is known as the system of Personal Ethics, be-
cause in his theory the moral law is founded on the conception that
each man is a person. Still it would scarcely be right to call his system
individualistic, it is from the conception of Ego in general and not
fxom thia or that Ego that he derives his whole philosophy.

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION 469

namely, with which the idea of freedom is contained in that
of the conscious ego — is the ground of the necessity of the
law to be free. Freedom is our first essential act, the first
natural impulse of the Ego — the impulse, namely, to will
itself as object.

But whatever exists, exists for thought ; or, as Fichte puts
it, the ground for everything is thinking. Therefore the Ego
as willing exists only as a thought object. The Ego as think-
ing or perceiving knows the Ego as willing ; and since the
Ego as object or willing has no existence except through the
thinking of it (nothing has existence except for the thinking
Ego) the Ego as object or as willing would seem to have a
ground, a dependence on something distinct from itself —
that is, it would seem to depend on the Ego as thinking.
It would seem, therefore, according to Fichte, that the Ego
as willing is necessarily a conditioned and dependent thing,
and that, so, it cannot be altogether self-directed or free —
freedom being absolute independence — absolute uncon-
ditionedness. The concept of freedom therefore must go,
on account of this dependence, unless we insist that the Ego
as thinking and the Ego as willing are one — and this we
must insist on. For freedom, since it is given in or is con-
tained in the very concept of thinking, as we saw at the
beginning, must be maintained at any cost ; and since a
necessary condition of freedom is the unity we have just
referred to of object and subject, so we postulate for Ethics
that Ego as thinking or as subject, and Ego as willing — i.e.,
as object — are one principle, and that freedom is an act of
the whole unit. But subject and object can never be com-
pletely identified — there must be, in Fichte's words, always
disruption of subject and object. Hence the inner contra-
diction of freedom, as something absolute and unanalysable
in thought, something which is never realisable, but to wiiich
we must ever keep approaching, something we must keep
ever tending to without ever reaching, like those lines called
asymptotes, which, as Mathematicians tell us, approach ever
another line, yet never reach it. Freedom then = x, which
means something that is unanalysable.

But now, merely to will is to will nothing. To will we
must will something definite, some object distinct from the
will, some object of pleasure. Hence there can be no willing
except through sense feeling and desire, for it is through feel-
ing and desire that we become related to particular objects.
This, too, is given in the very idea of the Ego. Hence in the
will there is a second natural impulse, that of desire for the
feeling of pleasure. This impulse is empirical, but as all

470 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

objects that exist exist for thought only, so these objects of
desire exist only for thought — i.e., they exist for the Ego,
and have all their existence in the Ego. The consciousness
of the necessity of freedom, together with that of the eternal
opposition between it and the natural impulses, gives rise to
the feeling of obligation.

There are, therefore, in the will two impulses — one to will
itself alone, which is the impulse of freedom, the other to
desire some finite object outside of the will. Both these
impulses spring out of the tendency of the Ego to activity.
They cannot be identified, and yet if the self is to be realised
they must be both realised as impulses of the one self. Both
of these conditions are to a certain extent fulfilled in the
harmonising of the two impulses, since in harmony are con-
tained the two conceptions of difference and identity. The
harmony of these two impulses is the moral good, and con-
science is the feeling of this harmony. Still freedom, which
is absence of determination from outside, keeps ever shrinking
from desire, always standing aloof from it, and their complete
harmony can only be an asymptotical existence, like freedom
itself. Morality, therefore, belongs not to individual act so
much as to the unchangeable character. Hence, two moral
principles arise — one from the impulse to pure freedom —
" Ens liberum maneat liberum " — the other from the impulse
of conscience to harmonise the two impulses — the impulses of
self-determination and of pleasure — " act absolutely in con-
formity with your conception of duty," or " whatever end you
desire let it harmonise with the principle of the will itself,
which is duty." It is not, thercfo-'^, /ro;n the concept of duty
that we must act but from the >icept of harmony with it.
This is the moral law to harmonise the impulses, not to
annihilate cither ; and we know that these two impulses are
Irirmonised by the feeling of harmony or conscience, which
therefore is for us the supreme moral criterion.

But though the feeling of conscience is, according to
Fichte, sufficient as empirical proof of the truth of moral con-
victions, still a rational science of morals requires that our
duties be deduced from the conception of the impulse to
freedom, which is the ground conception of the Ego itself.
That is, the Science of Morals requires that the code of duties
be rationally deduced from the conception of personality,
which is nothing more than the freedom of the Ego. Hence
the first law of morals is given by Fichte — I must be an inde-
]H'ndent person, and whatever forwards my personality shall
be used by me to that end. Hut in the conception of my own
j)ersonality are contained the three conceptions of causality

TRANSCENDENTAL EVOLUTION

471

(through the body) substantiaUty {i.e., intelligent Being) and
interaction (of one person on another person). From these
three conceptions we obtain the three laws — (i) to use the
body for the sake of morality, and so to avoid insensibility on
the one hand, and pleasure for pleasure's sake on the other ;
(2) to develop our intelligence, since between intelligence and
morahty there can be no opposition ; (3) to use other persons
not as means but as ends in themselves.

CHAPTER XIV

THE MORAL FACULTY

By the Moral Faculty is meant that faculty by which
we know the moral character 'of human acts. The ex-
pression " moral faculty " is sometimes, though not
commonly, used to indicate the faculty in which good
and evil reside, or that faculty which elicits good and
evil acts — namely, the will. But at present we are
dealing with the faculty which elicits judgments about
good and evil — or, as it is called, the faculty of moral
judgment. If we have not headed the present chapter
with the title " the faculty of moral judgment," and
thereby prevented all possibility of ambiguity, the reason
is that by such an expression we might seem to anticipate
a conclusion which we shall have to establish in the
present chapter — viz., that the moral faculty is one of
judgment and not a sense or instinct. This, we think,
is sufificient reason for speaking of the present chapter
as an enquiry into the " moral faculty " simply.

Now, from what has been already, said on the mean-
ing of the moral ^' good " and the nature of the moral
criterion, the reader will have no difficulty in surmising
what the moral faculty is. We have said that by moral
goodness is meant conformity between the human act
and man's ultimate end, or between our acts and the
law that is imposed upon us by our human nature.
And as the ultimate end of man and the law which
our nature imposes are known only through Intellect,
so Intellect or Reason is the faculty by which the human
mind judges of morality. Laws are not presented to
the human mind as facts are, immediately and in-
tuitively. Neither is the human mind directed to the
fulfilment of law, as animals are, by the compulsion of

472

THE MORAL FACULTY 473

inner instinct. In the case of man, the knowledge of
a law and direction of conduct by means of law always
imply reasoning, and, therefore, the moral faculty will
be that faculty by which we are enabled to elicit reasoned
judgments about good and evil.

And the truth of this proposition should be abundantly
evident to us even from experience. For in ordinarj'
life determination of morality involves, as we know, the
reasoned application of one or many general laws to an
individual case, and these laws are even quoted in justi-
fication of our action whenever we are questioned about
it. The same laws which we give in justification of our ^
action are the premisses by which we infer that we are
right in performing them. Reason, then, is the faculty
by which the human mind determines what is right and
wrong in human action.

Now, we need not say that in regarding Reason as
the moral faculty we arfe far from claiming infallibility
for this faculty. For Reason may go wrong in the
sphere of morals just as it may in the sphere of Physical
Science. But Reason in the sphere of mprals is as
reliable as in any other sphere, and can lead the mind
to certitude in simple as well as in complex cases, unless,
indeed, the case be exceedingly complex, in which case
the fault lies not with Reason, but either with the way
in which the materials of our moral judgments are
presented to us, or with the will, since often the will
forces the Reason to issue judgments on only a slender
examination of the case, judgments which of itself the
Reason would not have issued.

The moral faculty is, therefore, the faculty of Reason
or Intellect. It is fundamentally that very faculty by
which we carry on our deductions in Mathematics or
in any other science outside the sphere of morals. And
what is called Conscience is merely the act which is
elicited when we use this faculty on moral matters — the
act, namely, by which we judge whether an act is good
or bad. Moral judgments, therefore, are nothing but

474 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the judgments of our ordinary Reason and intellect.
But Conscience is a particular function of our intellect,
for in morals we have to do not with speculative truth
but with human actions. Hence, Conscience is called an
act not of the speculative but of the practical intellect.
But that practical intellect of which Conscience is a
function is the ordinary practical intellect — the ver\-
same intellect which tells a man what to do or to avoid
in ordinary extra-moral questions of the business of
life — how, for instance, he ought to invest his money,
or carry on a business, or preserve his health. Some
ethicians, indeed, speak of the act of Conscience as if
it were a different thing subjectively from all other
acts of the practical intellect, as if Conscience possessed
a certain sacredness and authority based on the nature
of the faculty itself which are present in no other intel-
lectual act. The fact is that the sacredness which
attaches to the act of conscience comes to it not from
the faculty which elicits the act but from the object to
which the act refers — viz., the " good " and duty.
From the object of the moral faculty, indeed, there
comes an element of sacredness which is not to be found
in the object of any other faculty. But the act of
conscience, as an act, or the faculty in which that act
resides, and from which it springs, is not more sacred
taken in itself than the common practical or speculative
Reason which we use in Mathematics and the other
sciences. Conscience is an act of the " sicca lux in-
tellectus " and no more.

The moral faculty, then, we repeat, is the faculty of
Reason or the practical intellect — the same faculty as
that which guides us in business matters — in matters of
ordinary human prudence.

We now go on to consider some of the more promi-
nent of those theories on the nature of the moral faculty
which are in direct opposition to the ethical theory of
Aristotle and Aquinas. But before doing so we wish
to say that if, as is customary with modern ethicians,

THE MORAL FACULTY 475

and even with some scholastic writers, we should in
the following pages speak of Conscience as a faculty
instead of as an act we are speaking of Conscience only
in a loose sense, for, strictly speaking, Conscience is an
act, an act of the practical Reason whereby a man
recognises that certain things are good and to be done,
others evil and to be avoided.

[a) Theory of a distinct moral faculty.

That there is a special faculty for the perception of
ethical distinctions amongst acts, and for that end
alone, has been the assumption underlying many ethical
theories both ancient and modern. What that faculty
is, whether it is a perceptive sense, a feeling * or senti-
ment, a spiritual power, or even a Divine power tran-
scending, yet dwelling in, human nature, are questions
on which schools have been much divided. Jouffroy
claimed that it was a sense akin to the ordinary five ;
Fichte and Bradley that it was a rational sentiment or
feeling ; Reid and Hutcheson that it was a sense of a
decidedly spiritual nature, more affective than percep-
tive, but distinct from every other faculty within us ;
More, that it was a purely spiritual faculty, worthy of
a separate name, the " boniform faculty " — to dis-
tinguish it oft from the ordinary- Reason to which it is
allied. But on one matter these theories are all in
agreement — viz., on the originality of the moral faculty
— that is, on its separateness from every other faculty
and on the limited character of the function assigned to
it — that of cognising moral distinctions, or rather the
moral quaHties of acts.

We shall now adduce some of the arguments on which
this theory of a distinct moral faculty' is based, j

* If wc speak of feelings as a faculty, we use the word " faculty "
in a very wide sense indeed.

t The fust three arguments here given are taken from Hume's
" Treatise on Human Nature," the fourth from Macintosh the fifth

476 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Argument (i) — The moral faculty has a certain influ-
ence over conduct — that is, is itself a spring of moral
action, whilst Reason is not a spring of action. Reason,
therefore, and the moral faculty cannot be one and the
same. Hutcheson goes even farther than Hume in this
matter, and declares that not only is Conscience an
impulse — that is, a spring of action — but that it is
supreme amongst all impulses commanding and over-
ruling all the rest, so that we have but to follow this
impulse to be sure we are doing the right. Wundt
also insists that no intellectual faculty could be a motive
of action, and that consequently Conscience could not
be the ordinary intellectual faculty.

We reply that if the moral faculty were the specula-
tive intellect * it could not possibly be a spring of action.
But there is a practical as well as a speculative Reason ;
and the function of the practical Reason is to tell a man
the means that will lead him to, and are necessary to,
any particular end. Conscience is nn act of the practical
Reason. It tells us our duty or what will lead us to our
ultimate end. It tells us what acts are good, and good
being naturally appetible to the will, it is thereby in-
directly a spring of action. Conscience is, therefore, a
spring of action. But it is a spring of action in a very
particular sense. First, it is a spring of action not as
Reason simply, but as practical Reason ; and secondly,
it moves to action not subjectively as the passions move
one, but objectively — i.e., by putting before the wiil
objects to be desired. The spring of action, then, in
the case of Conscience lies rather in the object than in
the Reason, for Conscience merely determines what
objects ought to be pursued — that is, what objects
should be allowed to move the will.

from Butler. Hume has other arguments also, but they arc too trifling
to merit serious attention. All the arguments here given are intended
by their authors to serve a double purpose — first, to show that Reason
is not the moral faculty ; secondly, to prove that the function of the
moral faculty is distinct.

• As Cudworth regarded it.

THE MORAL FACULTY 477

Argument (2) — The second argument for the existence
of a distinct moral faculty is that if virtues and vices (in
the sense of good and bad acts) mean respectively agree-
ment and disagreement with Reason, then, since agree-
ment or disagreement with Reason does not admit of
degrees, virtues and vices could admit of no degrees,
and sins should be all equal. But sins are not all equal.
Therefore, virtue docs not mean agreement with Reason,
and Reason is not the moral faculty.

We reply (i) — The question of greater and less in sins
and virtues is not a very easy one, and we shall deal
with it in its proper place. Clearly, however, merely
positing a new faculty for the perception of morality
does not remove that difficulty. (2) Virtue * does not,
strictly speaking, mean agreement with Reason, but
direction to the ultimate end, and vice, movement away
from it. And as divergence from an end admits of
degrees, so there can be degrees of vice, and, therefore,
inequality between sins. But even in the sense of
agreement and disagreement with Reason, virtue and
vice may admit of degrees. For since in ordinary
commercial and political affairs " rational " and " irra-
tional " admit of degrees, one action being wiser or
more prudent than another, there is no reason why the
same should not be the case in the sphere of moral
action. The only difference between the two spheres is
that, whereas morals relate primarily to the ultimate
end of life, commerce and politics refer more directly
to intermediate ends.

Argument (3) — If morality is a relation f cognised by
Reason, then wherever that relation is discovered it
should be recognised as moral. If, for instance, the sin

• " Virtue " is spoken of by Hume in the sense of the " good,"
which meaning we adopt here and in other places in this work for the
sake of argument. The strict meaning of virtue as a habit informing
the faculties will be found in our chapter on the virtues.

t Hume takes it for granted here that if the moral faculty be
Reason, morals must consist in a relation, and vice versa, if morality
is a relation, the moral faculty must be the faculty of Reason.

478 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of ingratitude is a relation cognised by Reason, then
wherever that same relation is recognised, even in
inanimate nature, it should be called sinful. So we
should call the acorn morally vicious for growing up
and destroying the parent oak, just as sons are morally
vicious who prove ungrateful to their parents. But the
action of the acorn is not recognised as morally vicious.
Therefore, morality is not a relation cognised by
Reason.

Reply — It is not true that Reason must judge of the
ungrateful son as it judges of the acorn. For (i) Reason
is aware that without freedom there can be no morality.
Killing, even in the case of man, is not regarded as
immoral unless it be free ; and since the action of the
acorn is determined it cannot be regarded as immoral.
(2) Even were the killing of the parent oak tree a free
and imputable action, it need not necessarily be morally
evil. Acts that are natural to one agent may not be
natural to another, and nature is the standard of moral
good and evil.

Argument (4) — Objects that are formally different re-
quire distinct faculties for their perception. Thus
colour requires one faculty for its perception, sound
another. But the good is distinct from the useful,
the beautiful, and all other relations that are perceived
by intellect. Therefore, the ordinary intellect cannot
cognise moral good and evil.

Reply — Pushed to its logical extreme, this means that
the beautiful should be perceived by one faculty, the
useful by another, mathematical relations by another,
political relations by another, and so on — a special
faculty for each distinct relation. Nay, each distinct
moral virtue should have its own special faculty, and
consequently there could, on this theory, be no one
faculty of morality, but an infinite number of faculties.
Such a view is evidently extreme. We may also remark
that not every distinction in object requires a distinction
in faculty. One faculty suffices for the perception of

THE MORAL FACULTY 479

red, and green, and yellow. And so, one faculty suffices
tor the perception of aU relations, including the moral
relation of " act to ulfmite end." *

Argument (5) — Butler's argument is one which we
have already referred to, and we shall have occasion to
speak of it later on in the present chapter. We shall,
therefore, deal with it only very briefly here. The
moral faculty, he tells us,t is " a faculty in kind and
nature supreme over all others, and one which bears
its own authority for being so." That is. Conscience
transcends every other natural faculty in man from the
special function of direction and superintendence which
it has from nature. Conscience is the source of the
categorical imperative, and in commanding us it pro-
claims its own authority not only over every other
faculty in man, but over man as a whole. It cannot,
therefore, be identified with intellect. It is sui generis
and independent.

Reply — Butler is not always quite consistent on the
question of tiie function of Conscience, for he tells us
also that the three functions of Conscience are judgment,
direction, and superintendence — and judgment is cer-
tainly a function of intellect. Again, he calls Con-
science the faculty of cool self-love. That is, it is a
deliberating facult}^ But deliberation appertains to
intellect. As to the particular argument before us let
it suffice to say that Conscience is not a dictatorial (in
Butler's sense of the term) but a judging faculty. Con-
science points out to me what I ought to do and what
acts are good or bad. It tells me that I must do certain
things just in the same way as my Reason tells me I
must take a certain road to a town — with the difference
that in the former case the judgment is categorical, in
the other case it is hypothetical. Conscience, therefore,
is not supreme over the other faculties. It is simply

* For distinctions in the faculties dependent upon distinction of
formal object, see Father Maher's " Psychology."
t Second Sermon.

48o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the faculty of practical Reason, or, to speak more pre-
cisely, it is the act of that faculty.

These are the main arguments in favour of a distinct
moral faculty. They are used to show that the faculty
must be something distinct from Reason, but they do
not determine what in particular the faculty is. We
now proceed to discuss some of the several theories that
have been offered on the particular nature of the distinct
moral faculty of Conscience.

(b) Conscience a moral feeling or group of feelings.

" Conscience," says Mill, " is when the pain attendant
on the violation of duty is disinterested, and confined to.
the pure idea of duty and not to any particular form
of it." " Conscience," writes Leslie Stephen, " is the
group of feelings that makes conformity to the moral
law pleasant and non-conformity painful." It is, says
Fichte, the feeling of harmony between the pure and
the natural impulses in man. " Conscience," says
Hume, " is not the work of judgment, but of the
heart." * Hume also calls Conscience " humanity,"
meaning not the universal man or the universal Reason,
but " humaneness " or the " altruistic feelings." Brown
tells us that Conscience is not a sense proper but the
" susceptibility of moral emotion." And even those
ethicians who have claimed for Conscience a double
character — namely, that it is a faculty of judgment or
of Reason, and also a feehng — yet make it quite clear
that feeling is the primary function. Reason a secondary.
This certainly is the view adopted by Butler and War-
burton. In their theories Reason is regarded as some-
thing that merely " improves upon the dictates of the
moral sense," either, as Burlamaqui contends, " to
enable us the better to discern and comprehend the true
rule of conduct," or, as Warburton puts li,'^" to show
that the love and hatred excited by the moral sense

• i.e., principally.

THE MORAL FACULTY 481

were not capricious in their operations, but that in the
essential properties of their objects there was a specific
difference." * All these theories agree in maintaining
that Conscience is a feeling of some sort or other. And
in support of this view we often find adduced certain
factors of man's moral life which, it is said, each of us
can discover in his own inner experience.

Grounds for this Theory. f — These facts are (i) that the
most prominent element in our moral consciousness is the
feeling of disgust or of liking with which we contemplate
acts usually designated bad or good, and the feelings of
sorrow and joy experienced when we ourselves are the
authors of those acts. (2) A certain vagueness in the at-
testation of Conscience, notwithstanding the fact that people
have the full use of Reason and have a full conviction of the
moral character of an act ; thus, men say that they know
not why an act is bad, but they firmly believe it to be so.
But vagueness, we are told, is a characteristic of feeling not
of Reason. (3) The fact that Conscience often seems to
oppose Reason and all the cognitive faculties. By Reason
men come to the conclusion that such and such an act is
lawful for them ; still some power deeper than their Reason,
some feeling which refuses to be quelled within them by
Reason, will often proclaim that it is not lawful. This is
the " still small voice " of Conscience which often speaks un-
compromisingly and clearly even against our own well-
reasoned judgments. (4) The fact that whereas Conscience
grows and declines with feeling, it seems not to grow with
Reason, but rather to lose in sharpness and delicacj; as
Reason grows more acute. Thus, Conscience is much keener

* We would also class under the present theory such explanations
of Conscience as make of it an undefined habit or series of habits,
which become conscious on the presence of certain stimuli. Thus
Professor Royce defines Conscience as " a well-knit system of socially
acquired habits of estimating acts, a system so constituted as to be
easily aroused into conscious presence by the coming of the idea of a
certain act."

t It is not easy to find formal written defences of the theory of
Conscience now under discussion, nor indeed of any of the theories of
Conscience criticised in the present chapter. Many writers of this
school (for instance, M. Levy-Bruhl and Leslie Stephen) simply assume
that Conscience is a feeling. The above reasons have been given to us
for the most part in controversies on the subject.

Vol. I — 31

482 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

in childhood than in later years, and, as a rule, is not at all
so sensitive in the enlightened as in the uninstructed.
Reason and Conscience, therefore, do not seem to grow and
decline together. But feeling, like Conscience, is strongest
in childhood, and both feeling and Conscience decline to-
gether, one in the sense of becoming more controllable, the
other in the sense of becoming less responsive as Reason
develops. Later on again, as Reason begins to decline, the
feelings (of old people) become stronger (for old people are
generally more sensitive), whilst Conscience also seems to
grow more sensitive, tending even to the side of timidity
and scrupulosity. Thus Conscience and feeling grow and
decline together. (5) Moral value in acts is unintelligible
except in reference to feeling — i.e., to feelings of pleasure
and pain. Consequently the perception of value must be
a feeling.

For these reasons it is held that Conscience is an
inner feeling implanted in man originally by nature
and purely independent and self-assertive.

Disproof of the theory that Conscience is a feeling.

Against this view we urge the following arguments :
(i) Feelings, as opposed to the attestations of a sense,
and the cognitions of intellect, are wholly unperceptive.
Pain is a feeling, and pain is not perceptive of anything ;
it is only itself a perceived state of the organism. So
the feelings of approbation and of blame that accom-
pany certain actions are not perceptive. They are
merely the tendency of the appetite to some actions as
to suitable — from others as from unsuitable — ends. Now,
if Conscience be anything it is perceptive or cognitive.
In no other way than through a cognitive facult}^ can
we come to know the moral qualities of acts. Cognition
is the primary and essential function of the moral faculty.
(2) When ignorant of or in doubt about the moral law
we do not seek to remove our ignorance and our doubt
by stirring up the moral feelings within us, or by seek-
ing to sharpen up our faculty of feeling for its work, but
rather by using our reasoning facultj' — by arguing from

THE MORAL FACULTY 483

premiss to conclusion. Moreover, it is worthy of remark
that when, after such reasoning we do at length discover
the moral quality 0/ the act, we sometimes experience
those very same feeUngs of approbation and disapproval
which our opponents describe as the fundamental factor
in the perception of good and evil. It is scarcely possible,
we maintain, that these feelings should in one case be
the source of our moral judgment and in another case
the result of it. (3) Where feelings dwell in distinct
faculties they are easily distinguishable from one another.
But where different feelings belong to the same faculty,
then it is not eas}' to distinguish them in consciousness
from one another. Thus, in the organic feelings, it
very hard to say what is the painful and what the
pleasant element, though pleasure and pain are oft
present together, making up one confused ma^
organic feelings. Now, in the case of the moral act,
there must be innumerable counter-feelings of pleasure
and pain arising out of the various parts of the act —
for instance, in the case of stealing — pleasure that we
have grown richer — sympathy for him that is robbed,
etc. But out from all these stands the moral judg-
ment, which condemns the act in its totality — even the
pleasurable parts of it, and the force of this moral dis-
approval within me I know to a nicety — that is, I know-
it to be absolute, that it outweighs in value everything
else in the way of feeling which the act excites within
me. If, then, the perception of morahty is a feeling,
how am I able to pick that element out from the whole
mass of feehngs which the act excites in me ? If moral
perception be a feeling it should follow the laws of feel-
ing. But it certainly is not according to the laws of
feeling that one element in it should stand out, in all
cases, quite distinct from the rest, in the way in which
the moral perception stands out. To answer that
morality is a feeling sui generis, and that consequently
it need not follow the ordinary laws of feeling, is merely
to stick blindly to an hypothesis and to refuse to submit

2SS

is ^

484 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

it to any known scientific test. (4) Often our most
important moral perceptions are not accompanied by
any feeling whatsoever. This is the clear testimony of
experience, and it proves that feeling is not the essential
factor in moral perceptions. (5) History shows that
men have been known to persist in doing good heroically
even when on their own testimony their feelings were
neutral or even opposing.

However, though Conscience is fundamentally an
intellectual act, based chiefly on intellectual considera-
tions, it is nevertheless guided partly by the feelings
which, as we have already shown, are even a secondary
criterion of morality.

Let us now answer the opposing arguments.

(i) Disgust and liking the most prominent elejnent in
moral consciousness. — The feeling of disgust and liking,
we reply, are not the most prominent element in moral
disapproval and approval, but rather the judgment of
disapprobation and of approval. Often, as we have
just pointed out, in approving an act we have very little
feeling either of disgust or of liking, and, as a rule, such
feeling becomes prominent only when some person is a
beneficiary under our act.* Even, however, w^ere this
feeling uniformly prominent, that would not necessarily
establish the priority of feeling in our moral perceptions.
For feeling arouses a consciousness of itself more easily
than judgment, because to creatures of flesh and blood
the sensuous is more prominent and more exciting than
the coldly rational. But the more prominent element is
not always the more essential.

(2) Moral consciousness vague. — Vagueness, we reply,
can affect a man's rational convictions and judgments
just as well as it affects his feelings. Vagueness attaches
to many acts that are undoubtedly intellectual, such as
our views of business methods and relations. Vague-

• The question on which some modern Ethicians seem to lay so
much stress — whether the moral judgment is always accompanied by
feeling — is in our view not a question of any Ethical importance.

THE MORAL FACULTY 485

ness is, in fact, nothing more, generally speaking, than
uncertain or badly formulated knowledge.

(3) Moral conviction often opposes Reason. — We reply :
Reason has power to oppose and criticise its own work,
and, therefore, our moral convictions, though opposed
to some acts of Reason, may still be themselves con-
victions of our Reason. It is not feeling, for instance,
that revolts against dishonest or plainly insufficient
reasoning- in science, but rather one's better judgment,
which clearly belongs to Reason. Reasoning, it should
be remembered, is often dishonest, because the will
and passions can exercise a certain control over the
reasoning power and extort judgments from it which
the premisses are far from warranting. As a rule,
however, we are not without consciousness of the un-
fairness done to the reasoning faculty in such cases,
and it is this consciousness which enables the reasoning
faculty or the conscience still to accuse us of wrongdoing,
even when we have already judged that a certain course
of action is lawful for us. Even, therefore, though
Conscience opposes our reasoning, it may still itself be
an act of the reasoning faculty.

(4) Reason and Conscience do not grow together. Con-
science and the feelings do. — We reply : (a) Even if it
were true that as Reason develops Conscience becomes
less tender, Conscience might still be an act of the
reasoning faculty, since it is possible for Reason to
develop in one department and at the same time to
decline in another. And morals, it should be remem-
bered, are only one department of Reason. (6) Also
the parallelism between the growth of feeling and
Conscience is purely imaginary. The least conscientious
man may have the very deepest feelings. Children are
in general much less conscientious than grown people,
though they are more sensitive, and on some points of
morals even more scrupulous than grown people. Also
it is untrue that educated people, whose Reasons, it is
supposed, are more highly developed, are less con-

486 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

scientious than others. In matters of Conscience it is
difficult to draw conclusions about large classes of
people — everything depends on the individual. If edu-
cated people seem as a body less conscientious than
others, this apparent want of moral discernment is to
be explained by the fact that, accustomed as they are
to deal in the larger affairs of society, where often it is
not easy to determine a man's obligation, and where
custom has come to recognise and even to legalise a
certain broadness of spirit that has somewhat of the
appearance of laxity, they often seem to border closely
upon the unscrupulous when in reality they are well
within the moral boundary.

Conscience, therefore, though not always developed in
proportion to the general Reason, is not a feeling. It is
one special function of the practical intellect.

(5) Moral value is determined by pleasure and pain. —
This argument we have fully considered in our chapter
on Hedonism. Pleasure is not our sole end. And even
if pleasure were our only object of desire all " value "
would still not depend on feeling. Some pleasures are
intellectual, not feelings of the senses.*

" Sensistic Morals " and the theory of a " moral
sense " are not one and the same. As a rule the ex-
pression " Sensistic Morals " is applied to the theory
that moral goodness is sensuous pleasure and moral
badness sensuous pain. But the theory of a moral
sense, which we are now considering, is the theory that
in man there is a special sense faculty for the percep-
tion of good and evil. This moral sense theory is loftier
and purer than the hedonistic system, since whereas in
the hedonistic system morality is subjective, selfish,

• An argument which is sometimes adduced is that conscience is
a spring of action and consequently must be a feeling. We have,
however, already shown that Kcason as well as feeling can be a spring
of action.

THE MORAL FACULTY 487

relative, and alterable, morality on the moral sense
theory is regarded as something objective and inherent
in our acts, something that transcends every con-
sideration of advantage or utility whether of the indi-
vidual or of the race, something, therefore, worth pur-
suing in and for itself. But what we have to discuss
now is not the nobility or purity of the moral sense
theory, but its truth.

The " moral sense " theory of Conscience is not
always easily distinguishable from the theory just
criticised of " Conscience a moral feeling." Speaking
broadly, the moral sense, as described by those ethiciafis
whom we are now considering, is as distinct from moral
feeling as the material senses are distinct from material
feelings. Thus the senses are primarily perceptive
faculties ; the feelings are primarily affective. Whilst,
however, the upholders of this present theory make
perception through sense the more original element in
Conscience, some of them hold that it also includes
feelings arising out of this sense perception. In so far
as this theory includes a feeling-element in Conscience
it is identical with the moral-feeling theory of Con-
science, and stands or falls with that theory. We now
limit ourselves to the theory that Conscience is a sense
faculty.

The theory of " Conscience — a moral sense " has
many forms. With Hutcheson the moral sense is
described as a faculty which not only reveals to us the
general laws of good and evil, but also " diffuses itself
through all the conditions of life and every part of
it " * — that is, it recognises the morality of every par-
ticular act. Brown and Reid, on the other hand, con-
sider that the moral sense is capable of perceiving only
general rules of morality, f Then, too, to emphasise
another point of distinction, with Robinet the moral

* " On Human Nature," Chapter I.

t On the question of the object of the moral sense, these ' moral
sense ' ethicians arc as undecided as they are divided from one another.

488 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

sense is regarded as purely material — a sixth sense on
a par with the five external senses ; whilst with Reid
and Hutcheson it is a spiritual sense and quite different
from what are known as the material senses.* Putting
aside now all minor questions about the particular
nature and qualities of the moral sense, we shall con-
fine our attention to this one question — is the moral
faculty a sense faculty — i.e., a non-intellectual faculty ?
Can we cognise morality by a sense as we cognise colour
by sight and perfumes by smell ? We reply that we
cannot ; that the moral faculty is not a sense. For —

I. Every sense has its own particular object, which
object is always some corporeal or material quality.
By vision we see colour, by hearing sound. No sense
has relation as its formal object. Now, moral goodness
is in its essence a relation — the relation of an act to
man's last end, and this can be the proper object of an
intellectual faculty alone. It may, indeed, be said that
sight perceives the spatial relations of position between
one coloured body and another, and hearing a relation
of pitch between different notes. It does not follow,
however, that moral relations are also cognisable by a
sense, for local relations are relations between material
objects, and if sight perceives relations of space it is
because, primarily and directly, it perceives the bodies
as coloured, space being an attribute of material bodies.
But morality is a relation subsisting not between body
and body, but between act and end, or, more precisely
still, between the internal act or act of the will (which
sense cannot perceive), and an end which is also un-
perceivable by sense. All that the eye, for instance,
can see is the dagger plunged into a body, but murder
itself, in so far as it is immoral, lies primarily in the act
of the will directing us to kill something which ought
not to be killed. This inner relation the senses cannot
perceive. That, therefore, which is primarily and

♦ Curiously enough the moral sense, according to Rcid, gives the
general principles of morality, Reason gives the particular concluhion.

THE MORAL FACULTY 489

essentially the seat of morality in human action is out
of the reach of the senses altogether. Consequently,
morality cannot be cognised by sense.

2. Many acts are bad merely because they are for-
bidden— I.e., they become bad through a positive law
directed against them. Now, such acts, regarded merely
as acts, are the very same before and after legislation.
Their badness therefore consists in the super-added
relation between them and the prohibitory law ; and,
so, the faculty that distinguishes between the moral
quality of these acts before and after legislation directed
against them must be capable not only of perceiving
the act done but also of appreciating the binding power
of legislation. And since this is impossible to sense,
the moral faculty cannot be a sense.

3, It is as directed against the moral sense theory
now under discussion, and not against the theory of a
rational moral faculty, that Hume's celebrated difficulty
assumes importance. If, Hume argues, immorality be
a definite relation cognised by Reason, then wherever
that particular relation happens to be realised, whether
in a free or a determined subject, a conscious or an
unconscious one, the Reason should instantly recognise
its immorality. Now, we have seen that this argument
does not hold in the case of Reason, since Reason is
able to distinguish between conscious and deliberate
violations of a law and mere unconscious action, and,
therefore, though we condemn ingratitude in men we
do not condemn the acorn which kills the parent oak.
But, on the other hand, if sense were the faculty by
which morality is perceived, it should be affected in the
same way towards the ingratitude of a son who ill-treats
his father and the ingratitude of an acorn which rises
up to destroy the parent oak. For a sense could not
realise, as Reason can, that in one case the act was
conscious and free and in the other unconscious and
determined. Its judgment, therefore, should be the
same in regard to both cases. But we know from

490 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

experience that the moral faculty is able to distinguish
clearly the merits of the two cases. It is able to recognise
that, whereas the action of the acorn is not a crime, in-
gratitude is a crime. Hence, the moral faculty is not a
sense.

4. The senses perceive by direct intuition. All, there-
fore, that we shall have to say later against intuitive
morals tells equally well against this theory of a moral
sense as against the intuitive theory generally. Thus,
if man were endowed with a special sense faculty for
the perception of morality, there is no reason why the
morality of certain acts should remain completely
hidden from him whilst the morality of others is know-
able. Yet there are acts the morality of which is not
known. The other arguments against the intuitionist
theory we need not anticipate here.

We see, therefore, that sense is wholly inadequate to
the fulfilling of the most essential functions of the moral
faculty. Of course it might be argued that the moral
sense is sui generis and not in anything like the other
senses, and that consequently we should not, as in the
foregoing arguments, expect it to follow the laws of the
other senses — e.g., that a sense perceives only what is
material, that it perceives only the external element of
acts, not the internal, etc. We answer, as before, that
such a form of argument is quite illogical, and that it
springs from an unwillingness to submit a theory to any
kind of serious scientific test. There are, if we might
adopt an analogy from Physical Science, arguments
that go to prove that electricity is not a fluid, which
arguments, of course, presuppose certain essential
characteristics in fluids which are not to be found in
electricity. What would be thought of the scientist
who would answer these arguments by claiming that
though electricity is a fluid, it is a fluid sui generis,
and has none of the characteristics of other fluids ?
The plain answer is — If it has none of the characteristics
of other fluids it is not a fluid. So if the moral faculty

THE MORAL FACULTY 491

be a sense it will exhibit at least those essential qualities
that characterise all the other senses. If it has none of
these it is not a sense.

{d) Conscience the universal or impersonal Reason.

The tendency of certain schools of modern Ethics is
to regard the individual Conscience as merely a phase
or moment in the Universal Reason, which latter, it is
asserted, is the only true and genuine Conscience — the
only Conscience to be followed and believed. This
universalisation of Conscience is not always expressed
in the same way by Ethicians, and consequently it is
often not easy to find anything like common ground
amongst theories which are usually classed as universal-
istic. Thus Hegel describes conscience as " the ob-
jective Universal Spirit " ; Clifford, as " the voice of
the tribal self " ; Leslie Stephen, as " the utterance of
the public spirit of the race." These latter two ex-
pressions represent, indeed, modified forms of the
universalistic theory of Conscience which at present
we shall not further consider. Our examination will
be confined to the theory expressly stated by some
Transcendentalists and Monists and implicitly held by
all, that Conscience is the Universal Reason, the absolute
Reason, in which all things subsist and through which
they come into being.

Criticism — We shall here set forth just one of the
arguments adducible against this theory of the " Uni-
versal Conscience." * If men be ruled by a single
universal conscience it is impossible that they should
consciously entertain opposed moral beliefs. Now that

♦ As we are here dealing with moral questions only, it is not in our
province at present to disprove the general Metaphysical theory (advo-
cated by Green and others) that there exists a Universal Ego or Self
in which all individual selves subsist. This theory has been severely
handled by many modern ethicians, notably by Professor Taylor in his
" Problems of Conduct." Here we can only examine the question on
its moral side. See, however, note, page 457 ; also chapter on
Evolutionist Ethics, page 451.

492 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

there are such differences in our moral beliefs will not
readily be denied. The question then is — how could
these differences be reconciled with the theory that there
is but one single Conscience existing amongst men, since
if there be but one universal moral Conscience it is in
that one Conscience that such opposed beliefs must
consciously reside ? Opposition between judgments con-
sciously entertained are possible only in some one of
the three following ways — (i) same principle of judgment
— i.e., same mind judging, same time condition, but
distinction in the objects about which one judges.*
Thus a man could judge that one object is white and
that another is not white : that two and two are four,
and that two and three are not four.f (2) Same prin-
ciple or mind judging, same object of judgment, but
difference in time conditions. Thus, about a particular
object the same intellect can elicit one judgment to-day
and its exact contradictory to-morrow. (3) Identity of
object and time, but difference in the judging principle,
as when many minds hold various opinions simul-
taneously about the same subject-matter. We can, of
course, have distinctions under all three heads together
— distinction of knowing mind, of time, and of object,
and correspondingly different acts of judgment. But
where the judging intellect is one, the time one, and
the object one, a qualitative opposition in the conscious
moral judgment becomes absolutely impossible. Indeed,
in any mind there can be but one conscious act of judg-
ment at any particular moment, and it could no more
be positive and negative than an object could at the
same time be black and white. Hence, if the conscience
of all men be one, it is quite impossible that at one and
the same time there could be opposing conscious moral

• Note. — If the subject be out of all-time conditions, as is supposed
in the theory of the " Timeless Self," then the laws stated above in
(i) and (3) hold good. For such a being any contradiction once
cllccted or asserted is eternal.

t This is " opposition " only in a very loose sense of the term —
opp'jsition of quality in judgments.

THE MORAL FACULTY 493

convictions about any particular subject-matter. Bui
contradictory judgments do exist in the consciousness
of different men. Therefore, the theory of the Uni-
versal Conscience is untrue.

To this argument there are three replies which we
must consider : —

L ihere is, in the first place, the obvious reply that the
" Absolute," as the monists or transcendentalists teach, con-
tains many individuals. Now, individuals are opposed to
one another, consequently it is possible that an Absolute
Consciousness should contain many different and opposed
moral judgments also.

We rejoin.— {a) The monistic theory that all individuals
are contained as parts in the one all-embracing Absolute is
untrue and impossible. The disproof of this theory, how-
ever, belong to Metaphysics not to Ethics, {b) Even if it
were true that many individuals could susbist in the one
Absolute it does not follow that many contradictory judg-
ments could subsist in the one consciousness, for individuals
are not opposed in the same sense in which contradictory
judgments are opposed. Individuals are opposed in the
sense that one is not and could not be the other. Contra-
dictory judgments are opposed in the sense that if one is
true the other is false. Individuals, therefore, can exist
together in the one world. But contradictories cannot sub-
sist consciously together in the one mind.

II. A second reply to our argument that there cannot be a
single Universal Conscience, since such a Conscience should
consciously harbour opposed moral judgments, is given by
Fichte as follows : — Conscience is not a judging faculty at all,
and consequently a universal conscience could not contradict
itself * even though all consciences were contained in it.
" Conscience," Fichte writes, " is no power of judgment,"
its office is legislative not judicial. It does not tell us what
is right, but it commands us to do the right and for the sake
of the right. In Kantian language (Fichte only develops
Kant's own view) Conscience is not a judgment proper, but
the " pure form of the moral judgment." Its act is not a
judgment that something is good, but an imperative to do
the good for the sake of duty. It is what Lass calls the
" pure empty form of scrupulosity." To know what is the
good or our duty in any particular case is, according to

* " Science of Ethics," page 183.

494 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Fichte, the work not of conscience but of a man's individual
Reason, and it is in that work alone that error and variation
appear. The command to do the good is a necessary dictate
of every man's conscience. Hence, it is possible that all
individual consciences should be contained as parts in the
one Universal or Absolute Conscience, nor need the diversity
of men's judgments on moral matters render the Universal
Conscience a repository of contradictory moral decisions.

Reply to this second argument : — We assume that since a
man does sometimes reason on moral matters, and since in
these cases his conclusions are expressions of some particular
duty — assertions, namely, that something is to be done, two
premisses at least are required from which to reason, one,
that the good is to be done, another, that this act is good.
Two things follow — {a) that our two premisses must both be
judgments ; {b) that they must both reside in the same
faculty as that which draws the conclusion. For {a) if the
two premisses be one a judgment and another a mere com-
mand, they could not yield a conclusion. Hence, Conscience,
in giving the premiss " the good is to be done," is a judicial
and not a dictatorial faculty — that is, its act is an act of
judgment, not a command, (b) The same faculty that draws
the conclusion, " this ought be done," must be the faculty
which issues the two judgments, " the good ought to be
done " and " this is good." If not, no conclusion could be
drawn. And since the drawing of the conclusion is the work
of the individual Reason, so the law " the good is to be
done " cannot come from the Universal Reason.

III. A third reply is given by Hegel, and is as follows : —
In man, there is a double conscience — one, the " true con-
science," in which all men agree ; the other, the " moral
conscience," which is proper to each individual, and by
which they may differ. The first is the pure " Universal
Conscience," the second is the Universal Conscience working
along with the individual intellect in an individual mind.
The first is always true and cannot go wrong ; the second
may err,* but the ground of the error is the individual
element or individual intellect — the element which the

• " Philosophy of Right," page 131 (Dyde). The True or Universal
Conscience is none other than the State or the Ethical objective Spirit
(the absolute Universal) or a phase of it. Subjective or formal con-
science belongs to the individual. The first cannot err. It is " the
disposition to desire what is absolutely good." Subjective conscience
should be made to conform to the true conscience.

A full and interesting account of Hegel's theory is to W found in
Elscnhanv' " Entstohung des Cowissens.''

THE MORAL FACULTY 495

Universal Conscience has not wholly " taken up into itself "
or with which it is not wholly identified.

Reply to Hegel. — -Now, the question is — are there in each
man two consciences, one the individual and one the Un-
versal ? No doubt, according to Hegel, the true Conscience
is the State. But this true conscience is supposed to be a
formative principle of the individual Reason. For State and
individual are, according to Hegel, only phases of the
Absolute. If, then, this Universal Conscience exists at all
it must exist in individuals. If not we have nothing to do
with it, for our present question relates to errors in individual
moral judgments, and Hegel's theory is meant to solve
the difficulty of the individual error.

If, then, in the individual there are two consciences, how is
it that when we do actually err in conscience we are never
conscious of two judgments, one that of the Universal Con-
science (a true judgment), and one a judgment of the
individual and false ? If the Universal Intellect be part of
ourselves or in ourselves, its judgment, if there be any,
ought be recognisable within us, and then there is no reason
why we should not be conscious of it in cases in which the
individual Conscience falls into error. But when in error we
are conscious of one judgment only — viz., the false judgment
— and hence we conclude that it (the false judgment) is the
only one which is issued in case of error. Someone may say
that the Universal Conscience is as yet not able to assert
itself, so buried is it in the individual elements from which
it is struggling to free itself, and that hence its judgment
may not be able to rise above the threshold of our Conscious-
ness even though it exists within us. Our reply is that if
after so many years of development it has not yet sufficiently
freed itself within us, or sufficiently gained possession of us
to make itself felt or heard at least faintly and, as it were,
from afar, it is idle to hope that it is ever going to free itself
or manifest itself to us in any way. But in reality there is
no trace of any such second judgment within us. It is the
purest imagination. There is present in our consciousness
but one moral judgment in the case of each moral decision.
What then, if it exists, is the Universal Conscience doing ?
Its judgment, it is maintained, is true ; but where is its
judgment to be found ? * And if it is not to be found, how

* The pure Universal Conscience, according to Hegei, finds its ob-
jective expression in the State, not indeed in this or that State or any
State that we know, but in the Universal Slate. To look, therefore,

496 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

is this Universal Conscience known, or how is it part of us or
we part of it ? At all events, the individual conscience being
the only one of which we have any knowledge, the individual
conscience is the only one that does the work we have
attributed to conscience, and hence the judgments of the
Universal Conscience are of very little consequence to Moral
Science.

Again, there are such things as controversies upon moral
matters. Controversy means that two men, A. and B., have
opposite convictions, that these convictions are pitted one
against another, until finally one conviction — namely, the
false one — vanishes. Now, it is quite certain that he in
whom a particular conviction has vanished is conscious that
the substitution of another conviction for the one that is
gone is the work of the very same faculty as that which
formerly was convinced of the opposite view. That indi-'
vidual faculty therefore which has now created in him the
true view of the case is the same that once was false. The
true judgment and the false belong to one and the same
faculty. Further, as one of these two opposing convictions
grows stronger and stronger the other of necessity grows
weaker and weaker, until finally it disappears. But the
law of inverse proportion in opposing characteristics holds
only where the subject is a single unit. If a thing be one,
then increase of black on its surface .means diminution of
white. But if the objects are two, no such law of inverse
proportion holds ; one can be black and the other white,
and increase of white in one does not mean decrease of black
in the other. So neither could the law of inverse proportion
hold in the case in which a true moral judgment replaces the
false unless that very same faculty or thing which was sub-
ject of the false judgment (on Hegel's own confession the
individual Reason) is subject also of the true.

It will be said, however, that our representation of this
theory of the Universal Conscience is crude and inadequate,
that an individual man need not be conscious of this uni-
versal intellect or its judgments, whilst yet it may so trans-
form individuals as gradually to harmonise all differences
of moral opinion and bring out the true scientific conviction
of the race. We can only say that, whether our account of

for attestations of the Universal Conscience in the laws of the State
would be quite as irrational as searching for them in our sclf-
consciousnoss, for the only States which we know are the individual
States, just as the only Conscience tliat we know is our individual
conscience.

THE MORAL FACULTY 497

it is adequate or inadequate, the existence of a Universal
Conscience is a pure hypothesis ; that its existence has not
been proved ; that it is not necessary for moral science ;
that, on the contrary, it runs counter to the very root
elements of the science. Also, we may repeat, if this
Universal Conscience exists in me and if I subsist in it, if ii
be the " true conscience," it must influence me in every act
in which conscience has a part ; and since it must have, in
all the years gone by, to some extent at ail events, shaken
itself free of the individual fetters — i.e., have overcome the
individual instead of being overcome by the individual — it
must by this time have so asserted itself in me as to make
me at least faintly conscious of it when it speaks. But I
am not conscious of it. I know from experience that in
many acts it exerts no influence whatsoever over me, so that
I can and often do err without the faintest suspicion that I
am in error.*

There is, therefore, in each man but one Conscience —
which is his own individual Reason. But it is right to
add that above us and distinct from us there is one
Universal Reason which is the ultimate type and
foundation of the truth for every man — namely, God's
Reason — to which all our judgments must conform if
knowledge is to be true.

[e) Theory of " Conscience the voice of God."

Briefly stated, this theory is as follows : Conscience
has by nature certain functions to perform within us.
These functions are mainly three : (i) Conscience con-
fronts us with our deeds in order to pass sentence on
them {iestificari) . (2) It declares the act which it has
so imputed to us either blameworthy or innocent
{accitsare and excusare). (3) It gives us a law for our

* This dif&culty of the " erring conscience " is, indeed, the night-
mare of Universalism. Schleiermacher also attempts to answer it,
but he can only repeat Hegel's reply. Conscience, he tells us, is God
Himself. How, then, can conscience err ? Conscience, he answers,
is the Infinite God only in so far as it is true. In so far as it is false
it is identified with the individual. God is the Universal fully de-
veloped. In the false conscience the Universal is not fully developed.

Such childish reasoning can really only bring the Science of Ethics
into disrepute.

Vol. I — 32

498 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

future conduct commanding us to do certain actions
and to avoid others [instigare and ligare).* Conscience
exercises all these three functions, and it exercises them
without regard to our wills or our desires. It brings
our faults before us and chides us with them and passes
sentence upon us coldly and impartially, without fear
or favour, as if it were not part of us or had any de-
pendence on us whatsoever. Conscience, then, bears
upon it every mark of supremacy. It, in Butler's words,
" carries its own authority with it," and is its own
guarantee that it has the right to try and condemn
us, to legislate for us, and to direct us in all that we do.
We feel that it is above us, that we cannot evade it,
that if we try to escape it will pursue and run us down,
that it is always with us, and always superior to us.
It fears nothing from us, and delivers its judgments
quite unsympathetically, but always in such a way as
to gain our instant submission. We may disobey it,
but we feel that we should not do so. " Our mortal
nature," "WTites Professor Caird, " trembles like a guilty
thing before this awful legislation of Reason." It uses
no material forces to bring its laws to good effect. It
merely proclaims its right to legislate. " Had it might
as it has right it would rule the world," says Butler.
We have, then, within us a voice that is ever calling
us to account, ever proving to us its own supremacy
and its sanctity. It is not part of ourselves because it
is often against us. It is above us because it subdues
us, not externally, but in the heart. Each man feels
that it is supreme over him, and that, as it is supreme
over him personally, so it is supreme over every man
and over the race. What, therefore, is it ? It is not
a creature, for no creature could exact from us such
absolute homage, such unconditional reverence, nor
create in us the confusion which this invisible power

• On these three functions of GDnscicncc all scholastic cthiciars
arc agreed. It is to the inference from tlicm given in the text tl at
we take exception.

. THE MORAL FACULTY 499

creates. Putting together all the attributes that are
exhibited in its least word — Power, Majesty, Beauty,
Holiness, etc. — we can only say that it bears all the
marks of the Supreme Being, the One all-pervading
Spirit who is above all things. Conscience, therefore,
is the voice of God. It is not a faculty in the ordinary
sense of the word. It is not merely a statute book,
enshrining the Divine law. It is the voice of the
Creator Himself, and when I hear it I am listening to
God Himself, am in His presence, just as I am present
to any friend that I hear and do not see. Had we no
knowledge of God aliunde, and no proof of His existence
as first cause of the universe, we should in these inti-
mations of conscience find proof of His existence, or
rather we should find in them something more convinc-
ing than proof — viz., we should have actual experience
of Him in the hearing of His voice and the receiving
of His personal commands.

Criticism — ^To this line of argument we reply as
follows : (i) Conscience is God's voice, in the sense
that from the attestations of Conscience we may learn
God's law. (2) Conscience is not the immediate personal
Voice of God. (3) In Conscience we find no proof of
God's existence.

(i) Conscience is God's Voice in the sense that from
the attestations of Conscience we may learn God's law. —
Conscience is that function of the practical Reason by
which we establish moral conclusions. As a faculty it
is not in any way different from that which directs a
man in the other practical concerns of life, political,
economical, and commercial. Now, if the practical
Reason be used aright it must be true. If it is not
used aright it will go wrong. But just as the speculative *^
Reason, when true, is in perfect harmony with the
objective order which it represents, whether mathe-
matical, metaphysical, or physical, so when the con-
science is true it expresses and accords with the facts
of the moral world. Now, God's intellect is always

50O THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS .

true ; nay, from Him all truth proceeds. Hence, the
true Conscience, the Conscience which harmonises with
objective truth, is an exact replica of God's mind on
morality. In this sense, therefore. Conscience is the
voice of God — viz., as truly representing God's mind
. on human good and duty. Thus, Conscience claims
from us reverence and submission, not from wliat it
is in itself, but because through it we can come to know
God's law in our regard. Directly and immediately,
therefore. Conscience only tells us what is good and
what is our duty. But indirectly it tells us also what
is God's mind in regard to human obligations.

(2) Conscience not the immediate personal voice of
God.

(a) Our first proof of this proposition is that if Con-
science were the personal voice of God — that is, if the
personal voice of God were the source of our knowledge
of moral distinctions — then we should not be able to
distinguish between natural and positive law. That is,
we should not know what was naturally and necessarily
forbidden by God, and what freely. If a ruler says to
his subject " Do this," and if this be the only way in
which the subject can know that such and such an act is
commanded, he could not possibly say whether that act
was necessarily or freely commanded. But, now, I do
distinguish between the natural and the positive law.
I know there are some acts that God must forbid.
Therefore, I am able without the aid of the voice of
God to know that some acts are bad intrinsically. And,
consequently, since Conscience is the faculty of the
knowledge of moral distinctions. Conscience is not the
personal voice of God.

{b) If Conscience be the voice of God, how can there
be differences in men's moral judgments ? The voice
of God must speak truly if it speaks at all. Yet the
consciences of some do not speak truly. Therefore,

THE MORAL FACULTY 501

Conscience is not God's personal voice. And in this
connection it is worthy of remark that in the true
judgments of Conscience there is not a single psycho-
logical experience which might in any sense be regarded
as indicating the presence of God personally in Conscience
which is not to be found also when our judgment is
false. This second portion of our argument we recom-
mend to the reader's earnest consideration not only in
relation to our present question but also in regard to
our criticism of Hegel's view of Conscience.

(c). If Conscience is the immediate personal voice of
God, why am I left in ignorance about a great part of
the law concerning which I even wish for information ?
It is worthy of remark, too, that those cases in which
I am left in ignorance are, for the most part, the more
complicated moral problems, not the easier ones ; and
it is not likely that God would make known only the
easier truths, when often the difficult ones are more
important.

These arguments some might answer by saying that
God's voice gives utterance only to the judgment that
we ought to do the good, and that then the individual
Reason determines what is good in any particular case.
But this form of the theory is practically the same as
Fichte's, and needs no further examination.

(3) Conscience offers no proof of God's existence.

In a former chapter we showed where in the science
of morals we might look for an ethical proof of God's
existence — not in the attestation of Conscience, but in
the fact that the natural end of the human will is the
Infinite Good. And since the natural end of any
natural faculty must be real, therefore the Infinite
Good is real. But this real Infinity is God.*

* This argument, as we said before, is a rational proof. It has no
dependence on mere subjective feelings. It therefore falls in with the
other rational proofs for God's existence like that from the necessity
of a First Cause.

502 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Very different is the proof from Conscience as de-
veloped by Cardinal Newman and others.* " As from
a multitude of instinctive perceptions," writes Cardinal
Newman, " acting in particular instances of something
be}-ond the senses, we generalise the notion of an
external world and then picture that world in and
according to the particular phenomena from which we
started, so from the perceptive power, which identifies
the intimations of conscience with the reverberations
or echoes (so to say) of an external admonition, we
proceed on to the notion of a Supreme Ruler and Judge,
and then again we image Him and His attributes in
those recurring intimations, otd of which as mental
phenomena our recognition of His existence was originally
gained."

We reply — It is because we know aliunde the existence
of God, and know also aliunde that the intuitions of
Conscience represent the Divine will that therefore we
conclude that the objective moral relations revealed by
Conscience are commands of God — commands, that is,
of a Ruler who is all-perfect, wise, just, and powerful,
of One who is not indifferent towards His own laws,
but who, as Creator of that very order which Conscience
reveals to us, is offended and pained at its violation by
those who owe Him all the love that He ma}' claim
from them. But could we per impossible imagine a
state of civilisation in which men had not as yet thought
about the existence of God, and, consequentl}', had as
yet no idea of Him, then, indeed, would all this sacred-
ness of which Newman speaks be gone from Conscience
— the sense, that is, of a loving Father offended, of
personal Majesty outraged, of a trust betrayed. We
cannot agree, therefore, with Cardinal Newman when
he writes : " Though I lost my sense of the moral
deformity of my acts, I should not, therefore, lose my
sense that they were forbidden to me " — meaning that
Conscience reveals to me, first and before all tilings,

• " Grammar of Assent," page 104.

THE MORAL FACULTY 503

not that an act is bad, but that an act is forbidden to
us — the badness being only an inference from the pro-
iiibition. This, in leed, is the plain summing up of the
theory of " Conscience — the voice of God," and it is
disproved by ordinary experience. For, first, apart
from Revelation it is not possible to know what acts
God forbids unless our reasoning first shows tliem to
be bad. Secondly, if we know directly the Divine
prohibitions, we should not need to reason in morals.
Again, thirdly, if prohibition be the sole source of my
knowledge of evil it is impossible that I should be able
to distinguish between acts which God prohibits because
He must and acts that He proliibits because He freely
wills to do so. But we can and do make such distinc-
tions. Therefore, that acts are bad is known on other
grounds than those of Divine prohibition.

Our conclusion is that in Conscience we find no proof
of God's existence.

Note. — That Conscience is the Voice of God or some
other direct expression or manifestation of Him has been
held by various sch«>()ls of etiiicians, whom we do not think
it necessary to con.^iller in any special or formal manner
here. This tlieory is natural!}- adopted by nearly all pan-
theists and monists, especially by those wlio make Reason
the universal principl<'. Thus Krause [author of many
P^thical works, principally the " System der Sittenlehre "
(1810), " Das Urbild der Menscheit " (1812) ] represents
Morality as fell within us, as a result of the impulse of the
Divinity to realise itself in the world. Duty is tlie constrain-
ing force of this impulse. Krause's theory is brieliy described
by Jodl, " Gcschichte der Ethik," page 96, from whom we
take the following : " The one all-embracing Reason (which
Krause regards as an Eternal sphere within the Divine
Being and co-ordinate with nature, somewhat after the
manner of Spinoza's attributes) passes over into the indivi-
dual and into the time-series of (nature), in order to manifest
God (to men) through the realisation of Reason in nature,
whilst (at the same time) it works in the individual as the
fundamental impulse of things (Urtrieb). This imjuilse is the
eternal God-directed causality of the (absolute) Reason itself.
It carries with itself its own authority as the feeling of the

504 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

unconditioned original ' ought ' — of unconditioned obliga-
tion, of the unchanging command that the Urtrieb alone
should regulate the construction of the time-series, because
it (the Urtrieb) tends to the one highest good. The activity
of this impulse may be regarded either as necessary or as
free. . . . it is necessary in so far as it is the universal
essential form of all rational activity as well as its eternal
life-form. It is free in so far as it is present in and is
formative of this time sphere."

Whether this account of Conscience is of real value to
Philosophy we leave the reader to determine.

APPENDIX
On Probabilism

It would be impossible for us to give a full account of the
theory of Probabilism in the present work, but we may
mention its essential features. Its first principle is that it is
unlawful for a maii to act ejccept with a certain Conscience of
the lawfulness of his act, since the same law that forbids any
man from doing evil forbids him also from running the risk
of evil or of doing what may he evil. Now, when we say that
a man should have a certain Conscience that his act is lawful
we do not mean that he should be certain that the act that
is done, considered abstractedly or in itself, is a good act,
but he should be certain that his doing of this act is lawful.
Different ethicians often hold different views as to the^
lawfulness or unlawfulness of certain courses taken in them-
selves. Some say these courses are good, some that they are
evil ; but, provided that these views are solidly grounded —
khat is, are supported by prudent and well-grounded reasons
I — then it is certainly lawful for us to follow either view, even
[though the other view which we do not follow is more probable
Ithan the view which we follow. We say "it is certainly
lawful," because it is certain that no law can bind in con-
science, in such a way that to violate it is a sin, unless the
law be fully and certainly promulgated to our reason ; but
a law which is only probable, or which only probably forbids
a certain course of conduct, is not fully promulgated to ns,
and hence it is certainly lawful for us to ignore such a law and
to do those things which it is supposed to forbid. Hence it
is certainly lawful to do an act which is only proba])ly for-

THE MORAL FACULTY 505

bidden, or, as Ethicians say, it is lawful to use a probable
'opmion against a law.

It is necessary to point out two things in regard to this
rule of Probabilism that it is lawful to do a thing which only
probably violates a law. JOne is that the rule applies princi-
pally to questions of lawfulness.. It has as a rule nothing
to do~with questions of va,ri3iFy, For inslanuy'llli contract
would still be invalid which opposes some invalidating law,
even though, at the time of making it, it wasnot certain
that the law invalidated the contract. SeconoljL^^here are
some supposed exceptions to the rule of Probabmsm, cases,
viz., of mere lawfulness, where yet the rule fails to apply.
An example is that of a man who shoots for fun into 'a
street crowded with people. Now, even though, in this
case, it is only probable that some one will be killed, still
the law of Probabilism does not hold. The person con-
cerned cannot say it is probable all will escape, and therefore
I may shoot. Such an act would be quite unlawful. We
believe, however, that the case is not a genuine exception
to the rule of Probabilism. For the question in this case is
not of a right or law which is being only probably violated,
but of a right which is being certainly violated ; and the
right which is certainly violated is the right each man has
not only that others should not take away his life, but that
tlicy should not wantonly endanger it.

CHAPTER XV

ON INTUITIONISM : OR, IS MORALITY SELF-
EVIDENT ?

Having seen that the moral faculty is none other than
the practical intellect, the question naturally arises how
the intellect attains to the knowledge of moral truth —
whether the knowledge of moral distinctions is intuitive
and immediate or whether it results from reasoning.

The importance of the question whether morality is
self-evident — that is, is known immediately or intui- "^
tively — ^will not, we think, be called in question by any-
one who knows the requirements of a science of morals.
In any science it is important to know what truths are
self-evident — that is, what truths may be accepted with-
out proof. In every science, and even in every art,
something may always be accepted without proof.
" There aie some people," writes Aquinas, " who want
to have (even) the principle of contradiction proved to
them, (a state of mind) which is the result of ' apae-
deusia,' or want of education and discipline. It is from
want of education that some men never know what
propositions need proof and what do not, for not every-
thing can be proved." * We must, then, in each science
accept certain principles as self-evident.

On the other hand, to regard everything as self-
evident or intuitively known would mean the complete
abolition of science, because for things intuitively known
there is no need of a science, whose function is to pro-
ceed from the known to the unknown.

Now, some authorities seem disinclined to allow that
anything in morals is intuitively known, whilst others

• " Commentaries on Aristotle." Metaphysicorum, Liber 1V.>
Lectio VI.

506

ON INTUITIONISM 507

regard everything as intuitive, and hence we have
undertaken to discuss this question of how far
we may regard the morahty of actions as intuitively
known or self-evident, and how far it requires reason-
ing.

The question whether morality is self-evident will be
treated by us under the following headings : —

{a) Exposition of our own view, which is based on
the Ethics of Aquinas, that some of the more funda-
mental moral truths are self-evident.

{b) The theory of Perceptional or Unphilosophic
Intuitionism, that not only all moral principles, but
even the morality of all individual acts, are self-evident
or are known intuitively.

(c) The theory of Common Sense or Philosophic
Intuitionism, that all general moral truths are known
intuitively (with, however, a vague use of the word
" general ").

[d] Some special theories of Intuitive Morality.

{a) Exposition of our own Doctrine
(i) Meaning of " Self-evident truth."

Before making a critical examination of theories of
self-evident morality we must explain precisely' what
is meant b}^ a self-evident truth. A self-evident truth
(or, as Aquinas calls it, per se nota) is a truth which
is evident to anybody who knows the meaning of the
terms — that is to say, the truth in question is appre-
hended without reasoning, and on the mere enunciation
of the proposition it is seen that the predicate is con-
tained in the subject.

There are some self-evident truths the terms of which
are understood by all men — for example, the truth that
the whole is greater than the part. These self-evident
truths are self-evident to all men. There are other self-

5o8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

evident truths the terms of which are understood only
by the wise. These truths are self-evident only to
the wise.*

It is hardly necessary to point out that it does not
follow from what we have just said that whatever pro-
positions are known to all are also, in the strict sense of
the word, self-evident. For there are some truths that
can be known by a very simple process of reasoning, so
simple, indeed, that the mind cannot help performing it
if it thinks at all, and these truths may be known to
all. Now, since they involve reasoning, these truths
are technically and strictly not self-evident or intuitive.
Yet they may be almost intuitive, and we think that
Ethicians generally would be willing in practice to
regard such truths as self-evident or intuitive.

In our discussion on Intuitive Morality our position
(in agreement with Aquinas) is that some fundamental
moral truths are self-evident, and by this we mean
that they are self-evident to all men because the terms
of a moral proposition are simple and understood by
all men. We will now in this sense take up the
question —

(2) Are any moral principles self-evident ?

That some fundamental moral truths are self-evident
is manifestly Aquinas' teaching, for he makes frequent
reference to the primary precepts of the natural law in
the human Reason as holding the same place in morals
that self-evident principles hold in the speculative
sciences. Thus, regarding the question whether the
precepts of the natural law are one or many he writes :
" The precepts of the natural law in man in regard to

• A self-evident truth considered in itself and without refcrciice to
its being presented to or understood by a human intellect is called by
Aquinas per se nola in se. A self-evident truth actually presented to
our intellect, and consequently understood by us if wc understand its
terms, is called per se nota quoad nos.

ON INTUITIONISM 509

action are like the primary principles in the demonstra-
tive (sciences). But the primary indemonstrable " {i.e.,
self-evident) " principles are many ; therefore the pre-
cepts of the law of nature are many." *

Now, it is clear that some moral propositions must
be self-evident, for many of our moral beliefs are
deduced from other beliefs, and all deductions must
ultimately begin with principles that are self-evident.
If any deductive science were without such principles
it is impossible that we should ever reason in that
science. For all reasoning, like all movement, must
begin from a fixed point, and in the case of reasoning
the fixed point is the principle, or group of principles,
which the human intellect accepts without the need of
reasoning and on the ground of their own intrinsic
evidence. Hence, there must be some self-evident
moral principles.

Some might urge against this view that the first
principles of Morals — though first and indemonstrable
in the science of Morals — may yet be capable of and
require proof in some other science more fundamental
than that of Morals, and that consequently they are
not self-evident. Our reply is that the principles of
Morals are principles about goodness and duty, and
such principles could not be proved except by other
premisses that concern goodness and duty — wliich
latter premisses are, therefore, themselves moral
propositions (" the first principles of Ethics must
themselves be Ethical ") ; and since reasoning must
begin with what is self-evident these fundamental
moral propositions, on which all others are grounded
and by which they are proved, must be self-evident

* " S. Theol.," I., II., Q. XCIV., Art. 2. Again Aquinas writes—
" S. Theol.," I., Q. LXXIX., Art. 12 — " Sicut ratio speculativa ratio-
cinatur de speculativis, ita ratio practica ratiocinatur de operabilibus ;
oportet igitur naturaliter nobis esse indita sicut principia speculabilium
ita et principia operabilium. . . . Principia operabilium nobis natural-
iter indita non pertinent ad specialem potentiam sed ad specialem
Ijabitum naturalem quem dicimus synderesim, unde et synderesis
dicitur instigare ad bonum," etc.

510 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

principles. There are, then, some self-evident moral
propositions.

But now we come to the much more difficult ques-
tion— ^Which are these self-evident moral principles ?

The reader must not expect, nor would it be possible
to give, a full enumeration of all those propositions
which we regard as self-evident. But the following
\vill represent which, in our view, are the main classes
of self-evident truths, and what the principle under
which we class them as self-evident.

In the first place, it is a self-evident proposition that
" the good must be done and evil must be avoided,"
for every man's will is necessarily fixed upon the good
in general and necessaril}- repelled by evil as such. We
cannot help approving the good as something to be
done.*

But not only is it self-evident that the good must be
done, but it is also self-evident that certain ends or
objects or acts are good. For, since goodness means
the object of appetite {honiim est appetihile being our
definition of good) it follows that that will be self-
evidently good which we naturally desire, that when a
man is moved by a natural appetite to the pursuit of
any particular kind of object, the Practical Reason
must, without reasoning of any kind, represent that
object as a good. Thus, no man could fail to recognise
the goodness of food or of society, for every man is
moved by natural appetite or inclination to food and
to society, and the definition of goodness is " that to
wliich we are moved by appetite." Hence, their good-
ness is self-evident. This does not mean that the pur-
suit of these objects under all circumstances is good.
For even when we have recognised that certain things
are good in themselves, we must still recognise that
even such goods must be pursued in a due manner —

• A proximate and easy deduction from this self-evident trutli is
that the necessary means to our final end ought to be taken, which,
as we saw, is the principle of moral duty.

ON INTUITIONISM 511

that is, under laws and conditions that regulate the
attaining of these natural ends. Thus, every man
knows that though eating is good, eating in such a way
as to injure oneself is not good. So also the desire of
sex is a good thing. But this end must be pursued in
such a way as that the natural object of such a faculty
may be obtained, that is, the birth and rearing of off-
spring.* The pursuit, then, of even the natural objects
is subject to certain defmite laws and conditions. The
determination of these laws and conditions may require
much reasoning. But, taken in itself, every object to
which our appetites naturally incline us must appear
to us as good.

These self-evidently good ends may be divided into
different classes according to the class of appetite that
inclines us towards them. Thus, since in common with
every substance man possesses a natural appetite for
his own continued existence, and since goodness is
defined as the object of appetite, it follows that to each
man his existence is a self-evident good. In common,
too, with all animals, man has certain natural appetites,
like those for food, for racial intercourse, and for the
care of offspring, f and, therefore, the goodness of these
ends is manifest and self-evident. Other natural
appetites are proper to man as a rational being, like
the appetite for society and for knowledge ; and hence
it is a self-evident truth that society and advance in
knowledge are human goods. We should explain, how-
ever, that by society as end of a natural appetite we do
not mean mere living together (for animals also live
together), but the amicable intercourse of one person
with another, and general interchange of services ac-
cording to our needs. And since society, in this sense,
is a self-evident good, the law to treat amicably those

* See Vol. II., pages 59-64.

f The necessity of marriage in the sense of a stable (not necessarily
an indissoluble) union of the sexes is an obvious conclusion from the
necessity of the care of offspring. For a fuller treatment of these
natural appetites, see chapter on The Good.

512 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

with whom we Hve (as Aquinas says, " quod aHos non
offendat cum quibus debet conversari ") and not to
injure them, is a self-evident law.*

These are aU examples of self-evident moral truths.
And being self-evident we do not think it possible that
any nation could be without a knowledge of them ;
for what is self-evident must be known to all. Thus,
it is impossible that any nation should fail to recognise
that it is a good thing in general to preserve one's own
being and that to injure it is evil. (The goodness of
preserving our own being in all farticular cases and
circumstances is not self-evident, but is a conclusion of
our reasoning.) Also, no nation could regard the care
of offspring as bad or indifferent (and if it thinks at
all it could not fail to recognise the necessity of mar-
riage, which is a proximate and obvious conclusion
from the necessity of the care of offspring). Again,
no nation could be ignorant of the goodness of society
and of the necessity of a law of justice for its main-
tenance. This law of justice arises from the fact that
to injure others is wrong, and self -evidently wrong ;
for, as we have said, the social life to which we are im-
pelled by natural appetite is not mere living together,
but a life of amicable intercourse of many persons in
one community. And as amicable intercourse and
injury are direct opposites it is self-evident that injury
within our own communion is evil.f

• As we explained elsewhere, there are certain ends for which we
have natural appetites, and which are therefore self-evidently good,
which would also appear to us as good and necessary, even though
we had no special appetite for them, since they are necessary means
to other ends which are objects of appetite. Thus, even if we had no
special appetite for food, we should regard food as good and eating as
a duty since it is necessary for life, which naturally we desire.

\ We speak here of the general law only. The morality of par-
ticular cases, esfxicially those in which there is a conflict of appetites,
is not necessarily self-evident.

The law against stealing is not a self-evident law but a deduction
from the law forbidding injury. Hence some nations have been
ignorant of the wrongfulness of stealing, as Aquinas himself testifies.

Again, though the killing of others of the same society with our-
selves is self-evidently wrong, the killing of men of other societies is

ON INTUITIONISM 513

Our view, then, of the question whether morality is
self-evident is that certain fundamental truths are self-
evident and intuitive, and known to all, that other
proximate and obvious deductions from these, though
not technically self-evident, are almost so, for they
become evident to anyone who exercises his Reason.
These truths are also known to all. The remote con-
clusions are obtained only after much reasoning, and
sometimes only after some experience, and these truths,
though perhaps necessary truths, are neither self-evident
nor known to all.

This view of the question " which are the self-evident
principles of morals " recommends itself to us for many
reasons. First, we believe that it is in accordance with
sound psychological principles — namely, {a) that there
are certain natural objects of appetite, (6) that the
object of a natural appetite is necessarily known to us.
Second, it harmonises with experience and with the
conclusions of Anthropology concerning the moral
beliefs of various nations. There are certain broad
general principles that are known to all. This will
be proved in the following chapter. Thirdly, it is
grounded on the Ethical teachings of Aquinas. For,
though Aquinas does not expressly state that the laws
which we have given as self-evident, and which we have
taken from him, are self-evident in the strict sense of
the word, he ne\'ertheless speaks of them as being

not self-evidently wrong, but is a conclusion of our Reason based on
the consideration of man's natural end. The necessity of maintaining
that society in which we live is also self-evident. But the question of
the extent of society and of our relations to the members of other
social bodies requires reasoning. Hence some savage tribes did not
know that it was wrong to kill the members of other tribes. Of this
however, we shall speak later, page 565.

The reader should understand that though we claim that certain
ends are self-evidently good, and give rise to self-evident laws, still the
proper formulation of these laws so as to bring them into harmony
with the whole organic system of human requirements is by no means
an easy thing, and is a result often of the most advanced reasoning.
Thus, though injury is an evident evil considered in itself, the law
against homicide is by no means an easy law to formulate. Us
formulation is the work of the scientific ethician only.
Vol. 1—33

514 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

known to the intellect naturaliter* and also as being
known to all men and as incapable of being -blotted
out of the human heart.

Other Views on Intuitionism

Having now stated our own theory we will take up
some modern theories of Intuitionism. To these we will
prefix, by way of prefatory note, a short statement of
the different senses in which the expression " Intuitive
knowledge of Morality " is used by modern writers.

The distinction between " intuitive knowledge " and
other knowledge is based by some on the character of
the object of the intuition, by others on the origin of
this intuitive knowledge. Thus the phrase " Intuition
of Morality " has been used to signify — (i) Knowledge
of the morality of an act through the intrinsic nature
of the act without reference to the act's consequences.
Here intuitive character depends on object. (2) Innate
knowledge of morality. (3) A -priori knowledge of
morality. (4) Knowledge of morality obtained without
reasoning — that is, without a discursive act of the
intellect. This knowledge is called immediate know-
ledge, and is contrasted with mediate knowledge, which
is knowledge obtained by reasoning.

The word " Intuition " is used in the first sensfe (the
'knowing of the morality of an act independently of the

• " S. Theol.," I., II., Q. XCIV., Art. 2. " Quia vero bonum
habct rationcm finis, malum autem rationem contrarii, inde est quod
omnia ilia ad quae homo habet naturalcm inclinationem, ratio naturaliter
aprchendit ut bona et per consequcns ut operc proscqucnda, ct con-
traria eorum ut mala ct vitanda."

The general meaning of this word naturaliter is given in Aquinas'
" Commentaries on Aristotle " — Liber IV. Metaphysicorum, Lectio VI.,
where writing on the conditions of a first speculative principle, he says :
" Tertia conditio est ut non acquiratur per dcmonstrationcm vel alio
simili modo sed adveniat quasi per naturam habenti ipsum, quasi ut
naturaliter cognoscatur et non per acquisitioncm. Ex ipso onim lumine
natural! intellectus agentis prima principa fiunt cognita ; ncc ac-
quiruntur per ratiocinationcui sed solum per hoc quod corum termini
innotcscunt."

ON INTUITIONISM 515

consequences) b}^ Sidgwick and Rashdall.* " Intui-
tion " is used in the second sense by Paley and Bain,
with whom intuitive knowledge means " Innate Know-
ledge," and the expression " Intuitive Morals " means
" Innate Moral Judgments." " Intuition " is used in
the third sense by Professor Seth, who applies the term
to all a priori knowledge — that is, to all knowledge not
gained by experience. " Intuition " is used in the
fourth sense by Reid and Cumberland, in whose writ-
ings " Intuition " is " immediate knowledge " (in which
they include knowledge both of sense and intellect).
This meaning of " intuition " in the sense of immediate
knowledge forms, as the reader has already seen, the
chief subject of our present chapter. Most schools
mean by " intuitive Morals " the theory that we have
an immediate, as opposed to a mediate knowledge of
morality — that we know morality without the need of
reasoning. We shall, therefore, in the following pages
use the word Intuitionism in this sense — namely, to

♦ The meaning of Intuitionism which we here give as the sense in
which the word is used by Sidgwick, is that which it has in the opening
pages of his chapter on Intuitionism. But it is not his fundamental
definition of " Intuition." This fundamental definition is found in
Sidgwick's " Methods," page 211, where, writing on the question
whether " Intuition " is always supposed to be true, he says : " I wish
therefore to say expressly that by calling any affirmation as to the
tightness or wrongness of acts intuitive ... I only mean that its
truth is apparently known immediately and not as a result of reason-
ing." The first definition of " Intuition " (that given as Sidgwick's
in the text above) is really, though not professedly, deduced from the
second or fundamental definition ; but in making the deduction he
assumes a proposition which is false — namely, that if reasoning were
required in determining morality, it could only be required for the
determining of consequences.

Rashdall is guilty of precisely the same inconsistency and assump-
tion of what is false. Rashdall's first definition is that given in
our text. His second and more fundamental definition is gathered
from a passage in the first volume of his work on " Theory of Good and
Evil " (page 93), where, writing of certain goods like pleasure, he says :
" The value of these elements in human life is determined by the
Practical Reason intuitively, immediately, or (if we like to say so)
a priori." And in the note to this passage he explains that by a priori
he means that " the judgment is immediate — not obtained by inference
or deduction from something else, in the way in which the Utilitarian
supposes his judgments to be deductions from rules got by generalisa-
tion from experience."

5i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

signify the system which professes an immediate know-
ledge of moral truths (whether these truths be par-
ticular or general, and whether the knowledge of them
be gained through the senses or the intellect) as opposed
to mediate knowledge or knowledge by logical inference
from premiss to conclusion.

Of " Intuitionism " in this last sense two forms are
distinguished by recent writers on Ethics — the theories
of Perceptional Intuition and of Common Sense Intui-
tion. The first is the theory that all men can, by means
of direct perception and without reasoning of any kind,
pronounce ordinarily on the morality of particular acts
at the moment of action. According to this theory there
is no necessity for the use of general moral principles of
any kind in the making of judgments, since Conscience,
it is claimed, is able to perceive whether an act is good
or bad in the very same manner as vision perceives that
a body is white.

The second theory is that all men have an intui-
tive knowledge, not of the morality of particular acts,
but of general principles — at least of the simplest
general moral principles, such as that the good is to be
done, and that, in general, murder, stealing, and lying
are bad and ought to be avoided. These two theories
we shall have to consider separately.

The Theory of Perceptive Intuition is held by Mansell
and McCosh, and apparently also by Martineau and Hutche-
son. " Whatever," writes McCgsh (" Intuitions of the Mind,"
pages 31-32), " be their distinctive nature, they always, as
Intuitions, primarily contemplate objects as individual. . . .
The child has not formed to itself a refined idea of moral
good, but contemplating a given action it proclaims it to be
good or bad." Again, " the Conscience is of the nature of a
cognitive power. It is analogous ... to ... sense. . . .
It reveals to us certain quaUties of objects ... it lets us
know of certain voluntary states of ourselves or others that
they are good or evil " (page 286).

And Mansell writes : " That this particular act of my own
at the moment of being committed is wrong is a fact pre-
sented immediately by the judgment of Conscience. That

ON INTUITiONISM 5i7

all acts of the same kind, whensoever or by whomsoever
committed, are necessarily wrong is a judgment formed by
the Reason. . . . The former as the presentative condition
of moral thought must be allowed to possess that chrono-
logical priority which in other cases is admitted to exist in
individual facts " (" Metaphysics," page 164). Mansell also
claims that the immediate intuition of moral quality is con-
fined to our own acts, that it does not extend to the acts of
others. " The intuitive perception of moral qualities cannot
extend beyond our own actions, in which alone we are
directly conscious of the law of obligation, and of a voluntary
obedience or disobedience to it " (page 168).

Amongst the doubtful upholders of this theory are Martin-
eau and Hutcheson. Martineau seems to maintain it in
many passages of his " Types of Ethical Theory " — for
instance, where he writes (page 456) : " Here " (that is in
the Moral Sphere) " the development of our knowledge is
hot downwards from the ideal essences to the individuals
taken one by one, but upwards from simple cases of alterna-
tive to the full content of Right, inverting Cudworth's rule —
that knowledge doth not begin in individuals but ends in
them." x\nd Martineau himself seems to class Hutcheson
with the Perceptional Intuitionists when he describes
Hutcheson's idea of goodness as a " perceptible quality
read off at sight in the conduct of others " (" Types," II,, 54).

Of German writers the most pronounced upholder of Per-
ceptional Intuitionism is Herbart. See Jodl, " Geschichte
dor Ethik," II., 205.

Most intuitionists, however, are to be classed as Common
Sense Intuitionists. They maintain that we know immedi-
ately not the morality of the particular act, as, for instance,
that this murder in these particular circumstances is bad,
but that murder in general is bad. Even the upholders of
the Moral Sense theory whom we should naturally expect
to uphold Perceptional Intuitionism are, perhaps with the
doubtful exception of Hutcheson and very few others, all
Common Sense Intuitionists. Thus, Reid expressly declares
that we have an intuitive knowledge of the general principles,
and that our knowledge of the morality of individual acts is
X result of reasoning. Locke seems also to hold the theory
of Common Sense Intuitionism as far as Morality depends on
Divine law. There are, he tells us, three kinds of moral
laws, viz., civil law. Divine, and the law of fashion or reputa-
tion ; but the Divine law is " the only true touchstone of
moral rectitude." The Divine law is known either by revela-
tion or the light of nature, and this latter expression we

5i8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

regard as meaning " by intuition." In Locke's theory,
however, there are two manifest inconsistencies. One is
that though he acknowledges Divine laws of morality, he
5'et regards good and evil as consisting wholly in the pleasure
and pain that follow on action. The other is that whilst,
as we have said, he regards good and evil as consisting in
consequences he yet speaks of morality as being known by
intuition. Plainly the computation of consequences is the
work -of the reasoning faculty and not of intuition.

(6) Perceptional Intuitionism — Criticism

(i) In some of our individual acts there are many
moral circumstances, and each of these circumstances
considered morally bears a special relation to the
ultimate end, and these relations need to be compared
and examined before we can know the true morality of
the individual act. This comparison and examination
requires reasoning, and hence the morality of all par-
ticular actions cannot be known immediately and
intuitively. ^

(2) Our knowledge of the morality of all particular
acts cannot be intuitive because we know from experience
that in determining the morality of many of our acts
we must use our Reason. In doubt or ignorance men
look to others for instruction, and ask for reasons as a
necessary means to making up their minds as to their
duty in a particular case. Indeed, in most of our
actions it would seem that some reasoning is necessary,
and hence we conclude that normally our knowledge of
morality is due not to intuition but to inference.

(3) Things known by intuition are easily knowable.
The axioms of Euclid are known without difficulty.
Colour is also easily knowable. There is no axiom that
cannot be seen to be true if it is properly stated, and no
colour that cannot be perceived if the conditions arc
suitable. So, also, if the morality of all particular acts
be known by intuition, the morals of all acts must, if
the circumstances of the act arc fully stated, be easily

ON INTUITIONISM 519

accessible to knowledge. But that this is not the case
will readily be conceded. There are acts of which, how-
ever closely they be examined, we are incapable of
deciding the moral quality ; and our inability to deter-
mine the moral quality of these acts remains even though
every part and circumstance of the act is known to us,
and even though the conditions of observation are per-
fect. Let a colour be suitably observed and we must
discover its quality. But there are moral cases which
still remain unsolved although there is no difficulty in
observing the individual facts of the case.

Hence, the morality of particular acts is not easily
knowable, and, therefore, we conclude that our know-
ledge of their morality is not intuitive.

(4) Where intuitions depend on cognitive faculties, like
sense or intellect, there can be no difference of opinion
concerning these intuitions* The evident truth of this
statement will appear from examples. To take the
instances of colour and the axioms of Euclid (our know-
ledge of both of which is admittedly intuitive), all men
under suitable conditions and with normal faculties of
sense (in the case of colour) and intellect (in the case
of Euclid) will be in agreement about a colour or an
axiom which is presented to them. The same should
hold for the morality of all particular acts if their
morality be always known by intuition. Now, it is
obvious that men are not in agreement about all moral
questions. Men hold the most widely divergent views
on the morality of certain acts even though they under-
stand the full circumstances of these acts. Hence, we
conclude again, the morality of all particular acts is
not known by intuition.

To this last argument of ours Intuitionists may offer
two replies, neither of which we can regard as satis-
factory.!

• We suppose a case in which the object is presented in equal
clearness and detail to all men.

f Marti neau's reply to this difficulty we hold over to the last
section of this chapter.

520 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(l.) The first reply is that differences of opinion on
moral matters may be due to a certain moral colour-
blindness analogous to that which occurs in the sphere
of vision ; for we know that there is such a thing as
colour-blindness, that what one man sees green another
man sees red, and nevertheless vision is intuitive ; and
if vision is intuitive in spite of differences of opinion
about certain colours, moral judgments may also be
intuitive in spite of differences of opinion.

Of this reply our criticism is as follows : If a man is
colour-blind, say, to red, he can never see red in any-
thing. If he sees it in even one object he cannot be
colour-blind to that colour. But there is no man blind
to good and evil in such a way as never to perceive
them — ^he will surely see the good and evil of some
acts. Therefore, no man is colour-blind to good and
evil.* If, therefore, there are moral cases on which
ethicians hold different opinions this cannot be due
to anything analogous to colour-blindness f in the
world of vision. Our argument, therefore, still holds
good — the morality of all particular acts cannot be
known by intuition since men differ in their judgments
about certain moral cases.

(ii.) The second reply of the Intuitionists to our
argument regarding differences of opinion on moral
questions is that the perception of beauty is intuitive,
and yet men differ in their opinions about beauty.

Our reply is that, however intuitive the perception of
beauty may be, the differences of men's views regarding
beauty are not analogous to differences on moral
questions.

For the differences regarding beauty are due either
to—

(a) Temperament, on which aesthetic pleasure largely
depends (this aesthetic pleasure being the criterion of

• Goodness and badness being the only two " colours " (the reader
will understand the analogy) in the world of morality.

t We admit, however, that concerning the remote conclusions, sin
may induce an incapacity for seeing morality.

ON INTUITIONISM 521

beauty), and not to a purely cognitive apt like that of
sense or intellect ; or

{(i) To the varying degree in which a beautiful object
is understood by the beholder.* A fine picture may
contain many things discernible only to the skilful
judge. But our claim is that where an object is pre-
sented in equal clearness and detail to all, intuitions
must be all in agreement concerning that object.

Variation of opinion regarding beauty is, therefore,
consistent with Intuition.

But the perception of morality is (a) not due to
temperament but to a cognitive f faculty. The morality
of an act is its relation to the final end, and this relation
is understood by the cognitive faculty of intellect only.
Again, {li) differences regarding the morality of indi-
vidual acts remain in some cases even amongst those
persons before whom the facts of the case have been
laid in the fullest manner and who understand these
facts completely.

Differences of view, therefore, in the case of intuitive
perception of beauty are not parallel with those about
morality, and afford no argument to prove that the
perception of morality is self-evident or intuitive.

But we make a false assumption if we suppose, as
some Intuitionists do, that aesthetic perception is always
a question of Intuition merely. For the perception of
beauty sometimes follows as a result of reasoning J
from premisses, and in holding these premisses there
may be considerable latitude for differences of opinion.
In every art there are different aesthetic schools with
different principles, and even the premisses from which

* Perhaps, also, to the want of a definition of what beauty is in
itself. We can only define beauty in its effect, quod visum placet. The
good, on the other hand, can be defined exactly in itself.

f And our thesis is that " where intuition depends on cognitive
faculties," etc.

X We say here " follows as a result of reasoning." We do not say
that the perception of beauty is itself an act of reasoning. The per-
ception of beauty always takes place in the act of beholding the object
— that is, in the " contemplation " of it — but it may follow in that
act as a result of previous reasoning.

522 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

these schools argue may not be themselves intuitions,
but may be the conchisions drawn from previous reason-
ing. The views of a cultured man on aesthetics are
generally the product of much thought and study and
reasoning — things w^hich strongly influence both tem-
perament and knowledge, and are, therefore, the cause
of many of the differences which exist among persons
W'ho perceive beauty. Differences, then, in our aesthetic
perceptions and in the feelings of pleasure with which
we contemplate objects of art may be due to reasoning,
and so far they rather strengthen than weaken our
argument that, where there are differences of view,
these views must be the result of reasoning and not
of intuition.

These four arguments contain the substance of pur
case against Perceptional Intuitionism.

A more widely accepted doctrine than that of Per-
ceptional Intuitionism is the system of Common Sense
Intuitionism which we have defined as the theory that
at least the broad general principles of morals (for
instance, such principles as that " taking other people's
property," homicide, and lying are bad, and their
opposites good) are known to us immediately without
the necessity of reasoning.

Now, we have already shown that certain principles
known as primary principles are self-evident or intui-
tively known ; and hence it would seem at first sight
as if there could be no essential difference between our
theory and that which we are now about to criticise
under the name of Common Sense Intuitionism. But
there is this difference between the Common Sense
Intuitionists' theory and ours, that whereas, according
to the Common Sense Intuitionists, all general moral
principles are self-evident, we maintain, on the other
hand, that some general moral principles arc not self-

ON INTUITIONISM 523

evident, but are obtained through reasoning, and that
even of those principles which are necessarily known
to all some are not intuitions in the strict sense of the
word — that is, they are not technically self-evident
since they require some reasoning.

The school of Common Sense Intuitionists, we say,
holds that all general moral principles are self-evident.
But we must admit that in the writings of this school
the expression " general moral principle " is ill-defined.
In a certain sense any moral proposition may be
regarded as a general principle — for instance, the pro-
position that "it is unlawful for any man to give his
money to the poor when his own children require it "
is a general proposition ; yet it is very special and
limited in its application, and we do not find Intui-
tionists claiming that such concrete propositions as
these are intuitive. By general propositions, therefore,
they seem rather to mean very general propositions,
principles of very broad application and simple in their
character and in the meaning of their terms.

But, then, what are these very general principles ?
Here, again, the Common Sense Intuitionists fail us.*
They do not tell us what those principles are, nor do
they give us any principle by which to determine them
for ourselves.

The least, however, that we think could be claimed
in any theory of pure and unmodified Common Sense
Intuitionism is that all those very general moral prin-
ciples are self-evident which are known to the ordinary

* We find very great difficulty in deciding whether Sidgwick and
Prof. Rashdall should be counted amongst Common Sense Intuitionists.
Sidgwick and Prof. Rashdall seem to accept only three axioms as
intuitive — namely, those of Prudence (I ought to promote my good on
the whole) ; of Benevolence (I ought to regard the good of society as
of more value than that of the individual, or, as Sidgwick puts it, I
ought to aim at good generally, and not at any particular part of it) ;
of Equity (one man's good is, other things being equal, as good as
another man's). If this system is one of Common Sense Intuitionism
it is a very modified form of that theory, and we do not think that a
minute examination of its merits is necessary after the criticisms we
have given of other forms of Intuitionism.

524 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

man and are accepted by him as manifestly true — for
instance, that lying, stealing, homicide, immorality,
want of benevolence are bad and to be avoided — and
it is in this sense that we propose to criticise the theory
of Common Sense Intuitionism.

Of this theory our criticism is : —

(i) A principle may be general and known to all and
yet not be self-evident in the strict sense. Intuitionists
should at least make the distinction which we
have made between truths that are strictly self-
evident and those that are self-evident in a loose sense
only.

(2) Some of those principles which are ordinarily
accepted by men are not only not self-evident in the
strict sense of the term, as we have already pointed
out, but are not to be regarded as self-evident in any
sense since they were quite unknown to certain degraded
races, and consequently they must require reasoning for
their perception. Thus, Aquinas testifies that " some
peoples did not know it was wrong to steal and even to
commit (certain) unnatural crimes," * a state of things
which he regards as due to the corrupt lives of these
people. Yet Common Sense Intuitionists will generally
be found to regard the wrongfulness of stealing as self-
evident.

(3) Many of these ordinarily accepted principles admit
of proof, as the Ethician knows, and, therefore, the pre-
sumption is that though at present they are apparently
accepted without proof, they were originally made
known through reasoning, without which it is possible
that they would never have come into human con-
sciousness.

For these reasons we claim that whilst some of the
ordinarily accepted moral principles are intuitive others
arc not, but are the result of reasoning, and conse-
quently the theory of pure Common Sense Intuitionism,
of which the least claim must consistently be that the

• " S. Thcol.," I., II., Q. XCIV., Art. 6

ON INTUITIONISM 525

ordinarily accepted moral beliefs are intuitive, is false
and unfounded.

Further examination of this theory is unnecessary.
As we said, there are some principles which must be
regarded as self-evident, and hence the fundamental
defect of Common Sense Intuitionism is that it has not
determined the principles that are to be regarded as
self-evident in a scientific manner, for it simply regards
as self-evident any principles which it sees to be ad-
mitted by the ordinary man, and hence it has erred in
its enumeration of these principles.

We now proceed to discuss some special forms of
Intuitionism — namely, the theories of " ^Esthetic
Morals " and of " the Moral Impulses."

(d) Some Special Theories

On Esthetic Morals.

The name " ^Esthetic Morals " has been given to many
and widely different theories. The simple definition given
below from ourselves — viz., the theory which identifies
beauty with goodness — represents the only form of the
theory that interests us here.

Martineau defines ^Esthetic Ethics as the theory which
blends in thought two separate aspects of the good, " one
identifying right with benevolent affection, the other with
' Charien ' and ' Kalon ' with what is charming and lovely in
temper and affection." This definition will be noticed by us
only in so far as it coincides with our own definition.

Amongst German aesthetic theories of Morals the most
prominent are those of Schiller and Herbart.

Schiller's ethical views are the direct opposite of those of
Kant. According to Kant, that act alone is morally good
which is prompted by Reason exclusively — which excludes
sense-motivation. Schiller's view of moral goodness, instead
of excluding " sense " and " nature," rather emphasises their
importance. The moral good consists, according to Schiller,
rather in the reconciliation of Reason with sense than in the
suppression of sense. Now, sense and Reason stand very far
apart, and would, according to Schiller, be incapable of re-
conciliation unless through some mediating condition of soul
which is at once a sensuous and a rational condition, which

526 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

perceives its object immediately, which allows to the senses
a real but yet a temperate influence in human action, and
this condition of soul is given in aesthetic feeling. This con-
dition of "the beautiful soul " {die schone Seele) is also the
condition of moral excellence since in it are harmonised the
claims of sense and Reason.

Herbart's theory is known as ^Esthetic Formalism, and is
as foUows : The judgment of moral approbation and blame,
which some acts excite, is an intuitive judgment. The
existence of such judgments is a matter of fact and of
experience which there is no denying, and on this fact is
built our whole moral existence. These judgments are all
judgments of taste, analogous to the judgments of taste
which we pass on music. They concern certain will-relations,
which, in consequence of the taste-judgments which these
relations excite, we call " morally good and evil." Taste is
an irreducible fact of our psychical constitution. " Taste
in Herbart's sense," writes Jodl (" Geschichte der Ethik,"
II., 203), " is an important original fact of our soul-life ;
the psychical mechanism requires that wherever there is a
complete apprehension of relations containing a number of
homogeneous elements mutually modifying and interfusing
with one another (a judgment of) praise or blame necessarily
arises in the apprehending subject." Such judgments are,
as we have said, excited in the case of certain will-relations,
and it is the purpose of Ethics to discover the particular will-
relations which give us aesthetic satisfaction and those that
excite the opposite. But since the sensibility of our aesthetic
nature is a subjective matter and not objective, it follows
that Ethics deals not with objects but with subjective value-
judgments, and consequently that Ethics is not a branch of
Metaphysics. Hence the ' good ' is not a positive reality. It
is a property of our aesthetic appreciation {Werthschdizting).
It is also quite distinct from pleasure as moral evil is from
pain.

The simple relations which excite in us aesthetic pleasures
Herbart calls " ideas." These we need not enumerate here.

Now, these sesthetic theories of Schiller and Herbart
lie for the most part outside the discussion which we
are about to raise, and we mention them here simply
because they represent forms of Intuitive Morals. The
particular theory which we are about to examine is
rather that which is to be found in the writings of
British Moralists, particularly Shaftesbury and Hutche-

ON INTUITIONISM 527

son — ^the theory, namely, that moral good is a par-
ticular species of beauty and moral evil a particular
form of ugliness, and that as beauty and ugliness are
perceived intuitively so also Morals are perceived in-
tuitively— that is, without reasoning.

Whether this theory is consistently adhered to in the
writings of Shaftesbury and Hutcheson is a debated
question with commentators. We believe, however,
that their works supply us with sufficient ground for
classifying them as ^Esthetic Moralists.

" There is no real good," writes Shaftesbury,* " besides
the enjoyment of beauty." And again — " What is beautiful
is harmonious and proportionable, what is harmonious and
proportionable is true, and what is at once beautiful and
true is of consequence agreeable and good." |

Hutcheson, also, is usually regarded J as belonging to
this school, since he speaks indifferently of beauty and
goodness — that is, uses them as interchangeable terms.

" But," he writes, " to regulate the highest powers of our
nature — our affections and deliberate designs of action in
important affairs there is implanted in us by nature the

* " Moralists," II., page 422.

t " Miscellaneous Reflections," III., page 183. Martineau con-
siders that though there are sentences in Shaftesbury that are open to
the construction of Moral ^Estheticism, the more exact statements of
his doctrine do not admit of this construction. He even says that,
" taking the writings of our Author as a whole we cannot justly affirm
that he merges the agathon in the kalon, but the increasing tendency
n his later essays to accentuate the esthetic aspect of morals is very
observable." The presence of those contradictory statements to which
Martineau calls attention, and which seem to be characteristic of all
Intuitionist writings, is sufficient reason for warning the reader that in
criticising the Intuitionist theories we criticise types of Intuitionism
rather than forms actually and persistently maintained by Intuitionist
writers.

J For instance, by Martineau, who says (" Types of Ethical
Theory," II., 543) — " I am afraid that, in spite of some contrary
appearances, we must treat Hutcheson 's doctrine on this side as one
of moral aesthetics only, which essentially reduces perfect character
simply to a work of high art." And again, in assigning reasons for
counting Hutcheson's theory one of Moral iEsthetics — " He (Hutcheson)
speaks of the moral beauty or deformity of actions as synonymous
with their rightness or wrongness as in the propositions — ' we have
a sense of goodness and moral beauty in actions distinct from ad-

528 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

noblest and most divine of all senses — that conscience by
which we discern what is graceful, becoming, beautiful and
honourable, in the affections of the soul, in our conduct of
life, our words, our actions. . . . What is approved by this
sense we count right and beautiful, and call it virtue ; what
is condemned we call base and deformed and vicious " ("On
Human Nature," I., i8).

Now, this theory that goodness is only a species of
beauty is evidently a theory of Intuitionism. For
beauty, as we shall show presently, is perceived not
by reasoning, but immediately and directly by intuition,
and hence it will be necessary to show that beauty is
not identical with goodness.

Criticism — In a certain sense the moral good is always
beautiful, and we often speak of the moral good and
the beautiful as if they were the same thing. Thus,
we speak of a man's action as abominable or horrible
when we mean that it is bad, and of a life as beautiful
when we mean that it is good. How far these things
may be said with truth we shall see presently when
we have compared the two conceptions — beauty and
moral goodness.

But now, however close may be the connection be-
tween these two conceptions — beauty and goodness —
they are not the same. For —

(i) In the first place, they appertain to wholly dis-
tinct faculties in man. Beauty, as Aquinas points out,
appertains to the knowing faculty {vis cognoscitiva) *

vantage' " He quotes other passages in which Hutcheson seems to
distinguish the Moral Sense and the Sense of Beauty, but it is Mar-
tincau's view that the differences drawn by Hutcheson here are not
so much differences in the faculties themselves as in the pleasures
attached to them.

It should be noticed, however, that British aesthetic moralists,
besides identifying beauty with goodness, also give to their theory a
Utilitarian colour, inasmuch as they also identify what is beautiful
and good with benevolent action. In Hutchcson's writings, indeed,
this second element is the more prominent and the principal element,
litnevolence is, according to Hutcheson, the object of the Moral Sense,
the only thing appreciated by tlie Moral Sense.

• " S. Thcol." I., Q. v., Art. 4, ad primain. Aquinas' theory nctds
to be explained and supplemented. By vis cognoscitiva he docs not
mean the intellectual faculty merely. The perception of beauty is

ON INTUITIONISM 529

goodness to the appetitive faculty. A thing is called
beautiful because the contemplation * of it pleases us
{quae visa placent) — a thing is called good because it
is an end the attainment or possession of which pleases
and satisfies an appetite [quae appetitum quietant) ; and
it is morally good when it leads to the satisfaction of
our appetite for our last end. Hence, beauty and
moral goodness, since they appertain to different
faculties, are not the same.

(2) Beauty and moral goodness both depend on, and
are founded on, something within the object, but
whereas beauty is a quality of the object regarded in
itself, moral goodness is a relation to a certain extrinsic
end — the ultimiis finis. In the words of Aquinas —
" Pulchrum et bonum in subjecto sunt idem quia supra
eandem rem fundantur, scil, supra formam {i.e., natu-
ram). . . . Sed . . . dum bonum habet rationem finis,
pulchrum pertinet ad rationem causae formalis " (" S.
Theol." I., Q. v., Art. 4, ad pHmam).

Therefore, we repeat here what we have already said
when discussing the general theories of Perceptional and
Common Sense Intuitionism — we cannot know that an
act is morally good by merely considering the act in
itself without relation to anything else. We must
determine the moral goodness of an act by considering

indeed possible to intellectual beings only, but, granted the presence
of intellect, then sense and imagination can share in that perception,
and share also in the ajsthetic pleasure. A truly beautiful object
must please every faculty engaged in the contemplation of it. Thus
in the case of music the tone must satisfy the ear, whilst the melody
must satisfy ear, imagination, and intellect. In a picture the colour-
ing must please the eye, the imagination must be satisfied with the
form or outline of figures, and the intellect with the unity of the whole
presentation. In so far as any one of these faculties is offended, the
object loses in beauty. As perceivable both by sense and by intellect,
beauty thus appeals to our whole cognitive nature. Any theory that
would confine the knowledge of beauty to sense on the one hand or to
intellect on the other is one-sided and erroneous.

* With this doctrine stated in our text it may be interesting to
compare Kant's definition of beauty, which, with some qualifications
is the same as that of Aquinas — beauty is the object of a satisfaction
that is wholly disinterested. A disinterested satisfaction is the same
thing as the satisfaction of contemplation, as opposed to that oi
attainment.

Vol. 1—34

530 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

its relation to the ultimate end [Summum Bonmn). On
the contrary, we perceive the beauty of an object by
considering the object in itself, in its form, and without
relation to anything else. And for this reason it is
possible to perceive the moral goodness of an act in
reasoning, whereas the perception of beauty is, as we
know also from experience, an act not of reasoning but
of contemplation, although it may sometimes require
reasoning as a necessary antecedent. Hence, also, it
is possible to prove that a certain action is good or evil
to one who does not already know its moral character.
But we could not prove that any object is beautiful,
any more than we could prove that a thing is red or
sweet. This, also, is evident to each man from ex-
perience.

Beauty and goodness are, therefore, not the same.
But, as we said in the beginning of this section, there is
a sense in which the morally good is always beautiful —
namely, that all harmony is beautiful ; and a good act
harmonises, first, with the nature of the agent, and,
secondly, with the scheme of the universe, since all
things are meant to tend to the ultimate end, whereas
a bad act at once violates the nature of the agent, and
contradicts the plan of the Universe in not tending to
the ultimate end.*

Moral Impulse Theory.

Martineau's theory of Moral Impulses is to bo reckoned
among the most prominent of recent Intuitionist Ethical

* In discussing the theory of ^Esthetic Morals we have avoided
all reference to certain highly metaphysical theories of modern writers
on the relation of the " good " to the " beautiful " : for instance, the
theory developed by some modern disciples of Schelling that the
" beautiful " and the " good " are identified in the conception of the
" absolute," which, according to these writers, is not only an object
of intellect, but is also known to us by imaginative and sensuous
apprehension. We do not think that the discussion of such theories
is calculated to throw much light on the problem of tiie relation of
the " good " to the " beautiful." An excellent account of these
theories can be found in M. Fouill6c's " Critique des Systtmes de
Morale Contcraporains."

ON INTUITIONISM 531

theories. It is the theory that in man there is a scale of
inner principles, or springs, or impulses towards certain forms
of activity ; that these impulses can be arranged into a scale
of morally higher and lower, and that according to its place
in this scale each impulse possesses a " moral worth " not in
itself, but in its relation to other impulses above or below it ;
that the moral judgment pronounces exclusively on the moral
gradations of this scale (" our moral judgments are all pre-
ferential "), the rule of morals being that " every action is
right which in the presence of a lower principle follows a
higher, and every action is wrong which in the presence of
a higher principle follows a lower," that these differences
of higher and lower are made known to us intuitively by
Conscience, which is defined " the sensibility of our mind to
the gradations of the scale " or the " critical perception we
have of the relative authority of our several principles of
action." This power of Conscience is, according to Martineau,
not developed to the same extent in all men, for the " extend-
ing range of intuitive perception of relative worth " is not
the same in all. One man is alive to only a certain portion
of the scale of impulses, another to a more extended portion,
a fact which, according to Martineau, fully explains the
apparent differences in men's moral judgments. For the
moral judgments of different men are never really opposed
to one another, since when one man says that a particular
act is right and another that it is wrong, they are speaking
of very different things — that is, they are estimating the value
of a certain spring of action relatively to different portions
of the moral scale. If goodness consists in choosing the
higher in preference to the lower, and badness in the opposite
course, then the following of a particular impulse may be
good if our comparison of that impulse be with others lower
still, bad if our comparison be with higher impulses. Hence
the apparent differences of judgments. Our moral judgments,
according to Martineau, never really contradict one another,
" However limited the range of our moral consciousness it
would lead us all to the same verdicts, had we all the same
segment of the series under our cognisance." Only he who
is alive to all the impulses is capable of a perfect moral judg-
ment. " The whole scale of inner impulses is open to survey
only to the ripest mind, and to be perfect in its appreciation
is to have exhausted the permutations of human experience."

This rough sketch of Martineau's theory may, for our
present purposes, be reduced to the single proposition
that the relative moral value of the inner impulses, the

532 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

gradation of which constitutes the subject-matter of all
moral Judgments, is known intuitively by our con-
sciences.*

Criticism — (i) The first point of our criticism is that
this theory is open to all the objections we have brought
against the extreme forms of Intuition. Thus, if all
moral judgment is an estimate of the relative value of
our inner impulses, and if this relative value is known
to us intuitively, it is difficult to see how we could ever
be under the necessity (a necessity which we know
from experience that we often are under) of reasoning
and argument in coming to our moral decisions, or
why we should sometimes fail to come to any decision
in regard to certain particular moral questions. Again,
if our moral judgments concerning the springs of action
are intuitive, why should men's judgments differ ?
Martineau's reply — that our judgments never really
differ — is, to our mind, sheer nonsense. Take the case
of the judgments of two men — one that it is lawful to
tell a lie to save one's own life, the other that it is not
lawful to tell a lie even to save one's own life. Between
these judgments there is a genuine difference of view,
and they really contradict each other. Yet, may not
that difference of view remain even though the two men
be conscious of equal portions of or even of the whole
of the scale of impulses ? Or may not two men, each
of whom has a perfect idea of the relative value of
selfishness and benevolence and the other impulses, still
differ in their views as to whether a person is bound

* According to Martineau, although Conscience judges only of the
moral value of the springs of action without reference to the conse-
quences of action, still there is room for the computation of pleasures
and pains in two ways. " First, the computation is already more or
less involved in the preference of this or that spring of action, for in
proportion as the springs of action are self-conscious they conltinplate
their own eilects, and judgment upon them is included in our judgment
of the disposition. Secondly, when the principle of action has been
selected to the exclusion of all competitors ; because, under the given
external conditions the very same principle may express and satisfy
itself in various methods. . . . The choice of means by whicli to
carry out the workings of a spring of conduct can be mauc only by
cun.sideration of consequences."

ON INTUITIONISM 533

to restitution for the burning of one man's house by
mistake when the burning of another man's house was
actually intended — a question which is actually debated
amongst moralists and on which opinions are divided.
We think that Martineau has no ground for his view — a
view which he states, but does not attempt to prove,
that if all men took cognisance of the same portion
of the scale of impulses there would be no room for
differences in our moral opinions.

(2) This theory of Moral Impulses does not explain
the moral character of all our acts, for, according to this
theory, badness and goodness could not attach to the
exercise of a single impulse without reference to others,
but arise only when one impulse is preferred to another
which lies higher or lower in the scale than itself. Now,
we maintain that, whether the impulse involved in the
speaking of the truth * — to take this single example — be
higher or lower than other impulses, the telling of a lie
is a bad act, and its badness is not constituted by any
relation to other impulses, it is bad because a lie vio-
lates the natural end of the faculty of speech. Many
other unnatural crimes consist, as we saw in our chapter
on the Moral Criterion, like lying, in the use of a single
faculty or impulse in such a way as to avoid the realisa-
tion of its natural end. These cases are not covered by
the theory that badness and goodness depend upon an
order of impulses.

(3) Again, the difficulty might be raised how the
theor}^ of Impulses is to decide where, in the scale of
impulses, any particular impulse stands ; where, for
instance, the impulses of justice and benevolence stand
in relation to one another ; whether benevolence is
higher, and whether, as a consequence, it is lawful to
steal from a rich man in order to help the poor — the
motive in the case being that of benevolence and the

* Of the impulses concerned with Veracity, Martineau speaks very
hesitatingly. He does not seem to contemplate an impulse to veracity
itself.

534 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

comparison being one of benevolence and justice. We
submit that no rule of preference between these im-
pulses could be given on Martineau's theory ; * and
even if it could be given the question of the prefer-
ability of certain impulses to certain others could not
enter into our decision. For injustice is bad whether
it be done from a motive of benevolence or not, or
whether the impulse of justice stands lower or higher
in the scale than that of benevolence. This theory,
therefore, cannot account for the morality of all our
acts. And hence it is not the ultimate account of moral
good and evil.

(4) We submit that this theory makes unreasonable
demands on human nature in expecting every man
always to choose a higher impulse in presence of a
lower. If it is wrong to follow a lower impulse in
presence of a higher, we do not know on what principle
a man could lawfully smoke cigars and drink brandy
after dinner when by refraining from these things he
could afford to give more money to the poor. Yet we
believe that Common Sense and Reason would recognise
no obligation, generally speaking, to give up these
luxuries.

(5) Finally, there is the dilhculty of discerning not,
as in a former difficulty, the order of the impulses, but
what are the impulses concerned in any particular act,
and of deducing from these the moral value of conduct.
This difficulty Martineau makes light of, saying that
though it will be fatal to his doctrine if the difficulty
cannot be answered, yet it really can be answered, or
rather the difficulty does not really exist for the Ethician.
The main point of the difficulty, according to Martineau,
is that, in some cases, the impulse to action is complex —

• In our own theory of the good, as the reader will remember, we
make comparison of some faculties reckoning one higher than another.
Intel Icct, lor instance, we regard as higher than sense. Tliis qurslion
of the relative onler of the faculties is necessary in our system for the
solution of a few questions only, like that of the immorality of drunken-
ness. In Martineau's system the order of the impulses is made the
universal test. As such it fails.

ON INTUITIONISM 535

and it is difficult to analyse the complex motive into
its several components. But, then, according to Mar-
tineau, it is not necessary to analyse the complex
motive into its components, for we can know the value
of a complex impulse relatively to other impulses with-
out analysing it into its components. Hence, the diffi-
culty of analysing the components does not exist foi
the Ethician. All the difficulties charged upon the
composition of motives appear to him (Martineau) as
a mere " nightmare of unreal psychology."

Now, we do not agree with Martineau that this diffi-
culty is fanciful and unreal, or that it all turns on the
question whether it is necessary to analyse our com-
plex motives in forming a moral judgment. We believe
that even the trained psychologist and, a fortiori, the
ordinary man would find it exceedingly difficult to
know what impulse, complex or simple, urges him to
the doing of any particular act. A man can easily
know the end * that he wishes to gain in any act, and
consequently, if he knows that all his ends are good,
he knows also that his act is good. But the inner
impulses that urge us to a particular end are generally
unknown to us, and for the most part they do not enter
into our consciousness in any way. Consequently, if
the morality of the end sought or of the act of seeking
those ends is to be determined by our judgment as to
the relative value of inner impulses, the moral judgment
would be for the most part impossible.

But it may be said that it is not necessary for us to
bring these impulses directly into consciousness, that
we can judge of the value of the impulses prompting
us to an act from the value of the acts which these
impulses give rise to. But such an admission would
in\olve the rejection of the Moral Impulse theory (which

* We speak here as if our impulses were different from our mere
natural desires for certain ends. If in Martineau's theory these two
are the same, then there is nothing distinctive about his theory. It is
pure Anstotelianism, which makes all morality depend on " ends."
It the two are distinct, the above criticism holds.

536 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

supposes that our preferential judgment of the value of
the impulses is first, and that this judgment is the
criterion whereby we value acts), and it would mean
substituting for the Moral Impulse theory the crudest
of all Intuitionist systems — namely, the theory of Per-
ceptional Intuitionism — that the human mind reads off
the moral goodness of each particular act as it comes
before us, and from that determines the value of the
impulses involved in the act.

For these reasons we reject the Intuitive theory of
the Moral Impulses.

CHAPTER XVI

ON SYNDERESIS

Synderesis is the name given to the group of primaryj
moral principles which belong naturally to the human
mind. The Scholastics define it " habitus primorum
principiorum. " St. John Damascene calls it a " naturale
judicatorium."

Now, when we say that certain principles are natural
we do not mean that they are innate, but only that
without reasoning the mind comes quickly and easily
to acquire them, and cannot help doing so. What
these principles are we have already seen in our chapter
on Intuitionism. Of these principles some, we saw, are
intuitions in the strict sense — that is, the mind assents
to them at once without reasoning. Certain other
principles are, practically speaking, intuitions. For,
though technically they are inferences and not intui-
tions, still so easily are they acquired and so neces-
sarily, that they may be, and are generally regarded as,
self-evident truths. The number of these primary self-
evident principles it would be difficult to state, and the
exact formula of each it would not be easy to determine.
But we can say with certainty that all grown people
who are capable of thinking at all believe in the good-
ness of honesty, bravery, kindness, filial pity, the care
for offspring, marriage, and in the evil of indiscriminate
murder, etc. It is true, indeed, that many peoples did
not regard virtues like honesty and piety as so strictly
binding that they could not be set aside under certain
exceptional circumstances. But Reason must recognise
the general necessity of cultivating these virtues,^ and
it is for moralists and those who are capable of judging
of such things to say whether to any particular law there

537

538 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

may in reality be an exception. In other words, it is
for the moralist to determine scientifically the formula
that will express, the law truly and exactly. These
self-evident moral principles constitute what moralists
speak of as Synderesis,*. about which many interesting
questions arise, some of which will be considered in the
present chapter.

From the self-evident principles, taken in their
strictest sense, it is possible, as we said, to derive
certain proximate simple conclusions which all men

* Various attempts have been made by modem ethicians to reduce
all moral principles to a single principle inclusive of all the others. The
more important amongst these principles may be divided into the
following six classes, according as they are founded : (i) On the con-
ception of individual pleasure ; (2) on the idea of individual liberty ;
(3) on the relation of the inner impulses to man ; (4) on the idea of
life ; (5) on the idea of the common good ; (6) on the idea of personality,
whether individual or general.

(i) Under the first we have the principle of Hobbes — that the
" good " is that which each man desires. This principle we have
criticised in our chapter on The Good. (2) Under the second we have
Fichte's principle, " Be free," Cousin's " Ens liberum maneat
liberum," and similar principles of the Transcendental School, an
examination of which will be found in the latter part of our chapter
on Liberty, where it is shown that Liberty is not morality but only
its pre-condition. (3) Under the third we have the principle " Never
to choose a lower in the presence of a higher pleasure." This principle
is examined in our chapter on Intuitionism. (4) Under the fourth we
have the innumerable principles of Biological Ethics — e.g., Thomasius'
principle, " Do that which will make life long and happy " ; Leslie
Stephen's two principles, " Be prudent " and " Be virtuous," both
ultimately grounded on the idea of life ; also Spencer's, " Seek the
maximum of life," for which see chapter on Biological Evolution.
(5) Under the fifth we have the several principles of Sociology — v.g.,
" Seek the greatest good of society " (Mill), or " Homini quantum in
ipso est colendam ct scrvandam esse societatem " (Grotius and Puffen-
dorf), or " Neminen laede — suum cuique " (Leibnitz). All that we
have said in the chapter on Utilitarianism applies here. (6) Under
the heading of personality we have the three principles — (a) of indi-
vidual personality (Kant), " Treat every man as person ; (b) of micro-
cosmic personality (Dr. Lipps), " Realise the whole world in yourself " ;
(c) of universal personality (Hegel), " Reali.sc the personality of
Society." These principles are examined in our chapters on Univer.sal-
ism and on Rights.

The reader will have no difficulty in recognising from what has been
said in the foregoing chapters that many of these principles are false,
whilst others fail to include the whole moral law (and therefore are not
to be regarded as primary principles in the sense intended by the
ethicians here mentioned) being principles only of certain departments
of morals. Further criticism of these so-called primary principles, we
think, will not be necessary at this point,

ON SYNDERESIS 539

must know. Other conclusions are not so evident,
and to bring home their truth with unmistakable clear-
ness to the ordinary mind we have to reason them out
step after step, as we would a difficult proposition in
geometry. These propositions are called remote con-
clusions. Though they are quite as true as the proxi-
mate, they are not, as we said, so evident, and conse-
quently it is possible for the human mind to lose the
consciousness of them or even never to come to a know-
ledge of them. But neither the first principles them-
selves nor the proximate and immediate conclusions
from them can ever be lost to consciousness.

We now proceed to discuss two important questions
on the primary moral principles. The first — What is
the origin of our general moral beliefs ? or — How do
we come as children to the understanding of general
moral principles ? The second is — Can belief in the
moral principles decay, or, as it is usually put, can
Conscience develop and decay ?

(a) On the origin of a child's moral beliefs.

The expression " origin of our moral beliefs " may
mean either the logical grounds on which educated men
maintain their beliefs ; or the original sources whence in
past ages men received their moral ideas ; or, finally, it
may mean the actual beginnings of these beliefs in the
child's mind to-day. It is this last question that we are
now to occupy ourselves with. What, we ask, is the
source of a child's moral ideas ? Do they come through
the exercise of his own Reason without help from out-
side ? Or are they gained by a process of reasoning
helped on by instruction ? Or are they wholly from
tradition ? *

At the outset we wish the reader to understand that
this is mainly an historical question. We have nothing

* The question of the possibility of inheriting these beliefs and of
their origin in past ages has already been fully treated in our chapter
on Evolutionist Ethics.

540 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

at present to do with the philosophy of duty or of the
good — i.e., with the question of the objective founda-
tion of moral truths, or the reason why we ought to
accept them. This we have fully explained in an earlier
chapter. The question how a child comes in the first
instance to believe that two sides of a triangle are
greater than a third (we take it for granted that such a
proposition has only to be put before the thinking
child in order to command instantaneous acceptance)
has nothing to do with the question — Why do you, a
mathematician, accept it, or why ought you to do so ?
So our present question is, not what is the right ground
of our moral beliefs, but how do children generally
come by their moral beliefs ? Now, a child may accept
mathematical truths on the word of his master ; yet
no one would, on that account, say that the proper
ground of Mathematics is tradition. Why ? Because
mathematical propositions can be proved on mathe-
matical grounds. So also with Morals. Once we have
proved the realit}' of moral distinctions we have im-
plicitly shown that the ground of our moral beliefs is
not mere tradition, that Ethics is based upon ethical
grounds, as Mathematics is upon mathematical grounds.
But our present enquiry has nothing to do with the
question of the ultimate grounds of moral belief. It
is a question of history only, but it is of great interest
to the ethician.

At first sight it would seem that the beliefs of children
depend wholly on traditions — that is, on the teaching
of parents and master. Children in civilised countries,
long before they are able to reason or to express their
thoughts with an}' clearness, have already been in-
structed in moral truths — that is, they have in the lirst
instance accepted these truths on the ground of tradi-
tion only. Even savage children, from their very
earliest years, are made familiar with the particular
religious and moral persuasions of their tribe, so that
from the beginning their moral beliefs are developed

ON SYNDERESIS 541

under pressure, if we might say so, of religious and
political training.

Still, in spite of this fact, we maintain that the beliefs
of children do not depend wholly on tradition. We
claim that though a child begins with tradition, yet at
the age of ten or twelve he has already come into posses-
sion of certain moral beliefs which he holds with a strong
intellectual conviction, not on the strength of mere
human testimony, but on account of their own intrinsic
evidence. In other words, we take it for granted that
at ten or twelve children no longer require the authority
of their parents in the case of some moral principles,
and that they adhere to these principles or propositions
on account of the insight they now possess into the
intrinsic truth of these propositions. These propositions
may not be very many. But a boy of twelve (we. say
" twelve," though we believe that the transition from
tradition to belief on intrinsic grounds occurs at a much
earlier period) believes on intrinsic evidence such truths
as that he ought to honour his parents, that they should
care for him, that he has rights against other men.
Some beliefs he still holds on the ground of authority
alone. If asked why he believes that America exists
or that planets move, or that absolute monarchy is not
good, he will answer " because so he has been told."
But if asked why he believes that murder is bad, or,
better still, if an argument is put forward in his presence
to show that murder is good, it will be found that in
answering he does not appeal to any authority for his
belief, but will refer to some objective ground and argue
the case out on its merits, thereby showing that he is
conscious of the intrinsic unreasonableness of murder,
and that he no longer beheves on faith alone. The
ground which he assigns may be far from satisfactory,
but it is evident from his attitude that now he is be-
lieving on grounds intrinsic to the truth itself, although
as yet he may not be able to express these grounds
coherently. Thus, between his moral belief and his

542 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

belief in facts into which he has as yet no personal
insight, there is the very marked distinction that the
one class of truth appeals to his own inner convictions
from their inner evidence, the other only on the ground
of an extraneous authority. The moral world, there-
fore, has begun to appeal to such a child for its own
sake, and he will judge of it from what he feels and
perceives, and will talk of it as a thing that he is familiar
with, and will think for himself concerning the reason-
ableness of the moral laws, and will even question the
judgment of other people about them, which shows that
some at least of his judgments on moral matters are
now received at first hand, and not on mere authority.

A child's judgments about remote conclusions may,
many of them, be wrong. It would be strange if some
were not. If a boy can form a wrong judgment about
many simple truths of Physics it is impossible that he
should not sometimes go wrong in Morals. But in
general, on the broad moral principles, his judgment is
perfectly trustworthy. No boy, for instance, could
think that murder, lying, cruelty, and robbery are the
right things, and ought to be done. Such a proposition
he could not entertain for a moment, even if he tried.
But his whole soul goes out to the thought of the good-
ness of truth, of respect for parents, of benevolence,
and of honour. It goes out just as easily and as
naturally as the flower opens up to the sunlight, from
which fact we draw the conclusion that morality appeals
to him to a large extent on the ground of its own ob-
jective evidence, and that, therefore, his assent to
morals is not based on tradition alone.

We are led also to another conclusion — namely, that,
since in the sphere of morals authority ceases at an
early age to be necessary to a child's belief, and since
the first principles of the moral law come quickly to
be believed on the ground of their own inner credibility,
it seems evident that, even were no instruction given,
the unaided Reason must succeed in time in construct-

ON SYNDERESIS 543

ing for itself a good deal of the moral law, although in
an unsatisfactory way and in the rough, and at a com-
paratively late period in a man's career. To construct
the natural moral law with any perfection needs ex-
perience and a ripened Reason. But granted a mind
that can normally think, and granted that it has some
experience, there is no doubt that even without instruc-
tion it must arrive at length at some rough idea of the
moral system. What, therefore, is the effect of instruc-
tion on the young mind in the department of morals ?
Just this — aided by instruction the moral ideas come
to it all the sooner, and aided by instruction they are
necessarily cleaner cut and truer. Instruction in
morality is like the plan of a city, which puts before
us boldly and definitely at one glance the lie of every
part, and its relation to the whole. In that one view
we see the city as a whole, and also the direction of
every passage and turn. Without such a plan we might,
indeed, come some day to know the city, but only after
much trying research and many failures. It is so with
morals — with this addendum, that in morals the failures
of research-time mean disaster to the individual. In-
struction, therefore, is necessary for the welfare of the
child. But, if it is necessary for the child, much more
is it necessary for the progress of the world at large.
For, though it is true that unaided Reason will arrive
after much thinking at some fair idea of the truths of
Ethics, yet it is also true that our moral system could
not develop, that the fabric of morals could not grow,
did not each age hand down the results of its reasoning
and its experience to the age that immediately succeeds
it. Moral science is not more easily constructed than
many branches of Physics, and if in the sphere of Physics
each age did not build upon that which preceded it, the
edifice of science could not be reared. In the same way
instruction and tradition are necessary to moral science.
Having seen, now, that the moral beliefs of children
are not dependent wholly upon tradition, it will be in-

544 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

teresting to enquire, from what we know of the child
mind, what would be the meaning of the conceptions
" good " and " duty " if, these ideas being once sup-
plied to the child, they were allowed to develop in his
mind without further instruction. What, for instance,
would a child understand by " good " and " duty "
who was told that it was a good thing and a duty to
be honourable and kind ? That most children from
the very beginning regard evil as directly and im-
mediately an offence against God, and the moral law
as His command, is only natural, since that is how they
have been trained to think. That training is, we main-
tain, justifiable both on logical and on moral grounds.
It is justifiable on logical grounds because, as we showed
in the earlier chapters of this work, goodness and dut}?^
are in their last analysis founded upon God as supreme
cause and ruler, and, therefore, evil is trul}^ a violation
of God's will. Secondly, this religious interpretation of
morality is morally necessary, because it is the con-
ception of a personal relation obtaining between child
and Supreme Being that appeals more than anything
else to his mind and heart, and fires him with a love of
the " good." But what now of the untrained child, or
the child who has merely received the suggestion that
certain acts are bad and others good ? What in his
mind will be the meaning of the two ideas " good "
and " duty " ? Naturally much will depend on the
child himself. Some children never think. But some
do think, and, granted that the child has come into the
possession of a language — in other words, that he is
normal and possesses the means of thinking — we main-
tain that his mind will, if allowed to develop, follow a
very definite course. It will be found to pass through
two distinct stages — (i) The stage at which evil is
regarded as a violation of the law of nature.* and

• A child will not formally think of such a thing as nature. But,

iust as a psychologist experimenting upon the ordinary subject gets
lim to describe his experiences, and then makes use of thsee experiences,
cataloguing them according to the methods and terminology of his

ON SYNDERESIS 545

(2) the stage at which evil is regarded as breaking in
upon the plans of Him who made nature what it is.

First — Badness to a child, who has not yet been told
that evil is an offence against God, is simply this —
that an order has been broken in on, and disorder has
succeeded in its place. The child feels, when he has
done certain acts, that there is something wrong with
himself — that he is not what he should be. He steals,
and he feels that there is a disturbance of the proper
and natural distribution of things around him, A
drunken man is to him a monster — something that
falls short of the standard of nature. Disarrangement,
deformity, disorder, have in these cases replaced ar-
rangement, harmony, and design. Evil, therefore, is
regarded as a violation of nature, and by nature a
child means the natural plan of things. This is the
first step. Secondly, a child's mind, particularly if it
receives the least help in its work, will very easily travel
up to the thought of One who planned the world and
made it. We say " particularly if, etc.," for even
without help a child must soon begin to wonder what
is the cause of the world, and even to assert that it
must have a cause. But if once the idea of a first
cause be suggested to him, the child's thought rises
immediately^ to it, as to something that satisfies all the
necessities of his mind, and when he accepts that belief
in a First Cause, he accepts it, not indeed because it
has been suggested, but because it is reasonable, because
his whole being goes out to such a thought as giving
everything around him meaning and completeness ; in
other words, the existence of a First Being explains
everything that he can think. We are not now defend-
ing the logic of his thought. We maintain, indeed,
that it is absolutely logical. But logical or not, a

science, so, though the child will not formally mention nature, he will
speak equivalently of it, and it will be for the prudent investigator
to extract from these equivalent expressions their genume Ethical
significance. In this sense we claim that a child regards evil-doing
as unnatural.
Vol. 1—35

546 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

child's mind travels up to that thought of a first cause
of the world as easily as it does to the thought of the
maker of a watch or of a house. One of his first ques-
tions is how he himself came to be, and how his parents
came to be, and how all things came to be, and at the
thought of a " First " who made all, his mind is at rest.
And so he easily gets to the thought of sin. First, a
bad act is a violation of nature — that is, it violates the
original plan of the world ; secondly, it is a disarrange-
ment of God's plan, a disarrangement that displeases
God, a disarrangement that can only be set right by
God. How far that idea would carry a child we do not
know. He might even think that to prevent a tree
from flowering or to break down its branches (these
things being in some sense against nature) was sin.
We have no doubt that a child would at first get many
erroneous ideas of his duty. But still we believe that
his ideas will run in some direction such as that which
we have indicated.*

Thus, even in the mind of the child, we find in some
sense the rough outline of the whole philosophy of
morals. Evil is to him a disarrangement of the original
plan of things and a violation of nature, and conse-
quently an offence against God. And, as we have seen,
the philosophical account of evil is no other than this.
Evil is a violation of the natural order. But it is also
an offence against God, and it is as an offence against
God that evil comes home to us most intensely, and this
is the natural form that the idea of evil and of the
violation of Duty assumes in the mind of a child.

With what rapidity, when once these ideas of good-
ness and duty are possessed, the proportions of the
moral fabric begin to form will be readily understood.

* Parents might instruct a child to do certain things because such
is their wish, but unless there was something in the natural relation of
parent to child which appeals to the child's mind it could not know-
that it was its duty to pay heed to the word of its parents. The mcie
wish of the parent could not of itself generate a belief that that wisli
has the force of a law, and that it ought to be obeyed.

ON SYNDERESIS 547

That lies and murder and disrespect of parents are
unnatural can then be seen by the youngest mind.
Particularly easy will be the formation of such judg-
ments by those who are not left to their own resources,
who have a few of the moral truths put ready-made
before them for their acceptance. But when these
judgments have been formed the child will still require
the thought of the higher sanction and the personal
love of the first Creator if his love of the good is to be
an actuating principle with him, and if the fabric of his
moral beliefs is to have permanence and stability.

{b) Can conscience develop and decay ?

" Can conscience develop ? " is a question which we
shall find no difficulty in answering. Since conscience
is nothing more than the practical Reason * it can be
educated and developed in two ways — (i) By the
attainment of new truths, (2) by increase of power
— i.e., of energy and acuteness — in the reasoning faculty
itself. These things require no elucidation ; for the
moral faculty is exactl}^ on a par with the mathematical
or the commercial Reason, both of which can grow in
the two ways mentioned — i.e., objectively, by en-
larging the sphere of knowledge, and subjectively,
by developing one's inner power of observation and
thought.

But a question of much more practical importance
for ethicians, and of much greater difficulty as well,
is the reverse of that just put — namel}', (i) Can Con-
science decay, and if so (2) can it be lost altogether ? —
i.e., can Reason become partially blinded on moral
matters, and if so can it wholly lose sight of morality ?

(i) We answer, first, that Conscience can decay in
two ways — (a) By the weakening of the general facultj'-
of Reason itself, {(i) by loss of perceptive power within
the special sphere of morals, (a) Of the Inst there is

* JNIore strictly, an act of the practical Reason,

548 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

very little necessity to speak here. If the general
faculty of Reason becomes impaired our power of
moral judgment, like that of the mathematical judg-
ment, must be to some extent adversely affected. We
can no more trust the judgment of a madman on moral
matters than we can trust his memory or his imagina-
tion on the facts of sense. But we must speak more
at length of the possibility of decay in Conscience itself,
or of Reason within the special department of morals.
(fS) May it happen that whilst in every other depart-
ment the Reason retains its strength and balance, yet
in the particular department of morals, of moral good
and evil, the Reason may become blurred and untrust-
worthy ? That Conscience does decay to some extent
is a fact to which no observer of men can close his
eyes. There are men in whom the moral faculty has
become so irresponsive that they fail to see many truths
that once were clear to their minds, and obvious, and
unmistakable. And this has come about, not because
of any explicit or formal process of reasoning that they
have gone through, but simply because Conscience has
lost its edge, because it has been blunted by one or more
of the thousand and one influences that are wont to
affect the practical Reason. The first of these influ-
ences is the constant misuse of Conscience ; the second
is the influence of desire upon thought. By the misuse
of Conscience we mean the use of Conscience against
one's better judgment. We rarely do evil without
excusing ourselves in some way, and making up our
minds that what w^e do is lawful — that it is well not to
be too strict — that to err is human — that sin must be
condoned, etc. All this is against our better judgment.
The still small voice warns us that we are in the wrong.
But the still small voice being constantly unheeded
soon goes below the threshold of our moral consciousness,
und ceases to be heard. Then, secondly, there is the
general effect of desire on Conscience and on the Reason
generally. Prejudice und desire ure capable of warping

On synderesis 549

the judgment not only in morals but in every kind of
belief. Scientists often err unconsciously in their ac-
count of the laws of nature, because of some hobby or
fancy for which they wish to find support in the facts
of nature. In politics, too, our views are influenced
very much by our prejudices arising out of environment,
or by the prevailing fashions of thought and speech.
And just as our political and scientific views, so also
our moral judgments are affected by our own desires
or passions, and particularly by the views of that society
in which we live. And we are affected in varying
degrees according as our character is weaker or stronger,
compromising or independent. Conscience, therefore,
may decay, and even well-reasoned judgments be re-
versed through a variety of causes of which the cases
just given are only a few prominent instances.

(2) But though Conscience may decay there is still a
limit to the reversibility or variability of our moral
judgments. Our views on Political Philosophy may
change, so far as to make us think that that particular
system of taxation is the better one which suits our
own business and requirements. But we cannot imagine
a thinking man genuinely believing that there should be
no such thing as government or " law and order " at
all. So in morals, a man could never come to believe
that indiscriminate murder and the complete neglect of
children were lawful, or that the natural was the thing
to be avoided, and the unnatural to be done. No, the
first principles of Ethics and what has been called their
proximate conclusions can never vanish from our minds,
however much an evil life or prejudice or passion may
affect us. We can imagine a man holding that in cer-
tain very exaggerated circumstances even murder would
be lawful, though to the cold, unprejudiced, developed
Reason it could never seem so. But no developed mind
could ever believe that wanton murder was the good
thing and to be done, and its opposite the bad thing
and to be avoided. Hence, whilst the faculty of Con-

550 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

science is quite capable of partial decadence it can never
be wholly lost. A man can never despoil himself of his
first principles or of a knowledge of his main duties, and
as long as these remain they will not only keep up a
claim on their own account, but will also act as an in-
centive in bringing back ' to his mind even those dis-
carded truths which crime and passion have obliterated.

We turn now from the consideration of the question
of development and decadence in the moral perceptions
of civilised men to the kindred question of " Un-Ethical
man " — a field of enquiry which many philosophers have
used, notably M. Ree and M. Levy-Bruhl — to show that
morals beliefs are not a natural possession, that once
there was no such thing as Conscience or a conscious-
ness of moral distinctions, that these beliefs are, there-
fore, an artificial product, and as such have no moral
binding power. If, as is contended, it can be shown
that the savage races evince in their general mode of
conduct less and less consciousness of moral distinctions
as they go down in the scale of human beings, and if
those men who have never lived in society — namely,
the solitaries or wild men of the woods, of whom there
have been many — show no knowledge whatever of
moral law, then it would seem to follow that the moral
laws are not natural — that they are only a development
of human custom, and a by-product of civilisation.*

We shall therefore treat : —

I. Of the moral beliefs of savage races.

II. Of the beliefs of the " homo sapiens ferns."

• The reader will sec that though of these two hypothetical pro-
positions " if morals are natural no race can be completely ignorant
of them," and, " if any races arc comjiletely ignorant of the moral
law it cannot be natural " the second is deducible from the first,
still Ihey arc (juitc distinct propositions. It is the second that is
criticised and rejected in the text above.

ON SYNDERESIS 551

I. Of the Moral Beliefs of Savages

From Qarwin's time anthropologists have been at
pains to show that races exist which are so far removed
from civilised men as to exhibit no trace of morality
in act or in belief beyond what is to be found in the
higher animals. Lord Avebiiry writes : " While even
the lowest savages have many material and intellectual
attainments they are, it seems to me, almost entirely
wanting in moral feeling." He remarks, however, that
" the contrary opinion has been expressed by many
eminent authorities." * Whether, if Lord Avebury's
account be true, the Darwinian theory on the origin of
man must also be true it is not for us to determine.
But it is within our province to determine whether if
Lord Avebury's view be true — the view, namely, that
some men have no moral beliefs — it would follow that
the laws of morals themselves objectively taken cannot
be natural, but are simply the result of custom or other
artificial and non-moral ground. On this point we
maintain the following : That even though all savage
races were wanting in moral beliefs, and had never
heard of a difference between good and evil, the Moral
Laws themselves might still be natural. If the validity
of Mathematics, Physics, and Psychology does not
depend on the attainments of the savage in these
branches of enquiry, if the laws of all three sciences
would remain, even though savages knew nothing about
numbers or the laws of bodies, or had never performed
any act of introspection, and did not know what the
mind was, or what was its structure, it is hard to see
how lh(3 laws of morals might not still be natural even
though savages did not know of them, or why the
validity of this Science of Morality should have any
dependence whatsoever on the practices, or the beliefs,
or the want of beliefs, of the savage races.

* " Origin of Civilisation," page 414.

552 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

S.tiU the savage is always interesting, and conse-
quently we shall now briefly tell the reader what we
hold on the view of Lord Avebury, quoted above — a
view which, we think we can safely say, is far from
possessing the authority which formerly it obtained
amongst men of learning. But before doing so it will be
well to make one or two introductory remarks. One is
that a great many people think that we are inclined to
make too much of the savage, that the differences
between him and the ordinary uneducated civilised man
are only skin-deep, and that if we knew him intimately
we should find that he was a very ordinary being, and
in most things very like ourselves. This, at all events,
was the conclusion come to by Dr. Livingstone, who
had better opportunities for observing savages than
most men have had. He found savages he said,
" strange mixtures of good and evil, as men are every-
where else." Our second remark is that, judging by
what we know of the necessity of certain of the moral
laws for individual and racial existence, the conception
of a race wholly without morality, and yet continuing
for centuries to exist, is quite impossible — almost as
impossible as that of a race of men without heart or
lungs, and yet continuing to live. As Dr. E. Tjdor
writes : " Without a code of morals the very existence
of the rudest tribe would be impossible." * This argu-
ment, however, is purely a priori.

But let us look now at the historical question proper.
Recent anthropologists have so clearly proved the
presence of moral beliefs in races once regarded as
practically without moral beliefs that we are forced to
the conclusion that early travellers who failed to notice
the presence of these beliefs must have taken very little
trouble indeed to discover them, and that their observa-
tions must have been hurried, superficial, and mis-
directed. Take the case of marriage. According to
some travellers certain savage races know nothing of

• " Primitive Culture," II., 360.

ON SYNDERESIS - 553

marriage laws. Yet Ratzel writes :* " Where marriage
has been supposed to be absent, even among the most
promiscuous nomads of the forest and desert, its
existence has sooner or later been in every case estab-
lished." Other writers have asserted that certain
savages were wholly without political organisation.
Yet Ratzel writes if " No race is without political
organisation. . . . What sociologists call individualism
has never been found anywhere in the world as a feature
of any race."

And these general testimonies are supported by
others regarding the moral practices of particular races
of savages. J A few such testimonies will suffice for
our purpose. Of the moral practices of Australian
SAVAGES who, according to Wake, § are amongst the
lowest of all ancient peoples, we have an abundance
of favourable testimony. Ratzel gives convincing proof
of the perfection of their family life, the mutual love of
children and parent, their respect for women (so far
as that is possible in the case of a polygynous || race),
and for the marriage vows, any violation of which was
visited often with death. Marriages of relations they

* " Volkerkunde " (Engl. Transl.), I., 114. Even Lord Avcbury
seems most undecided about drawing from the testimonies of travellers
the conclusion that savage races have no morality. He throws cold
water on many of their pronouncements — v.g., on that testimony of
Casalis in regard to the Basuto people, which is given later in this
chapter. On questions of justice he seems to think in one place that
the most sweeping conclusion open to him is that property is not so
safe amongst savages as amongst civilised men.

f " Volkerkunde," I., 129.

I We might, in order to prove our point, here draw up in opposition
to the testimonies adduced by P. Kee in his " Entstehung des
Gewissens " and by Lord Avebury, another list of counter-testimonies
taken from ethicians like Flugel, Westermarck, Elsenhans, and
Cathrein ; but the testimonies in the text are taken rather from men
like Ratzel, Prescott, Livingstone, P. W. Schmidt, E. H. Man, whose
accounts are written from the standpoint of pure history, and without
any reference to the bearing of their testimony on Ethical theory.

§ In his work on the " Evolution of Morality."

II It should be remembered that Polyg .-ny is not opposed to the
primary moral principles, but only to the secondary principles of the
Natural Law. It could, therefore, apart from positive legislation to
the contrary, be allowed in certain circumstances.

554 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

strictly forbade. " The least trace," * writes Ratzel,
" of blood relationship is a bar to marriage." Often
marriages were forbidden within a particular clan.j
Homicide was punished with banishment. "If a
native," writes Ratzel, " murdered a member of another
tribe his life was forfeited to that tribe." %

Needless to say, the homely virtues of these people
did not long remain after the arrival of the European.
All that was good in them, as in the case of other savage
tribes, was turned to evil by the greed, cruelty, and dis-
solute behaviour of civilised men.

The African savage has long been held up before
our imagination as little better than the brute, without
religion and without morals. Lord Avebury quotes
Burton's testimony : " Conscience does not exist in
Eastern Africa. There robbery constitutes an honour-
able man." This view, however, of the African savage
has not been upheld by investigation. Instead of the
complete want of religion ascribed to them we have
Waitz's § testimony that the religion of some of these
tribes was almost monotheism. And instead of utter
immorality we have Livingstone's testimony : " After
long observation I come to the conclusion that they
are just a strange mixture of good and evil as men are
everywhere." Ratzel gives extraordinary instances of
the delicate sense of honour of many of these tribes,

* " Volkerkunde," I., 368 (Engl. Transl.). Affinity, however, not
only was no bar to marriage, l)ut it was even in some cases supposed
to confer some marital rights which were certainly not in accordance
with the natural law. Whether these supposed rights were publicly
admitted or whether they were simply an evil practice, we have not
been able to determine with any certainty. We believe that they
were only an evil practice, but common.

t This custom, known as Exogamy, was a marked characteristic of
many African tribes, who in this matter present a strange contrast to
the customs of the Inca tribes of Peru, who make it a law that marriages
should take place only within the clan. See Vol. 11., 451.

J " Yolk," page 379. An interesting study in regard to their
religious beliefs will be found in Vol. 11., page 34, where it is shown,
in spite of Messrs Spencer and Gillen that the North Central Australians,
th(-ugh now ai)paiently without religion, were once po.ssessed of a pure
religion, most i robably one of pure monotl eisni.

§ " Anthropologic der Naturv61ker."

ON SYNDERESIS 555

and shows * that, foreign influences apart, the more
primitive they are in their manners the purer are they
in their practices. The love of mothers for their children
is most tender. Livingstone relates how, at the slave
markets, no mother could be found to sell her children
to the Arabs. Even grown-up negroes are exceedingly
attached to their parents, f No doubt these African
negroes have many vices, just as civilised men have (it
is one of the advantages of civilisation that it can hide
its vices). But, considering the abnormal conditions
under which they have lived, their extreme desire for
pleasure, the lightness of their imaginations, J and the
warmth of their temperament, their vices were com-
paratively few. Ratzel writes : " Divorce is rare
amongst (those) tribes which lead a simple life undis-
turbed ; nor is adultery so frequent as among those
who have accumulated capital, possess numerous slaves,
and have come into closer contact with Arabs or Euro-
peans." § That stealing was regarded as a crime is
evident from the punishments that followed. It was
regarded by them as worthy of a second death. In
the case of many tribes perjury was punished with
death.

Of these African races we shall mention three in
particular : (a) The Hottentots, as can be proved
by an abundance of testimonies, honoured marriage
and married early. The giving away of the daughter
was the strict right of her parents, and marriages
between relations were strictly forbidden. || Murder,
stealing, and marital infidelity w'ere severely punished.
Apart from certain cases to be considered later — cases,
namely, in which the savage mistook the law of nature —

* " Yolk.," II., 325.

I The practice of abandoning parents when they become helpless,
which was not uncommon with these people, is explained, p. 565.

J Negroes will often laugh a whole day at the silliest joke or the
most trilling mishap.
§ " Volk.," II.. 383.

II Katzel Volk., II., 291. For a fuller discussion of their religious
and other moral principles see Vol. li., pages 37, 409, 460.

556 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

these Hottentots were remarkable for the love of parent
and child. The girls especially seem to have been
brought up most carefully. From Europeans these
poor people have not learned much that has helped the
purity of their morals.

(b) The Bushmen have commonly been regarded as
the lowest of all savages. The wonder is that they
have any morality at all, considering the conditions of
their life and their long and hopeless struggle against
adversity. Yet of their moral beliefs there cannot be
the least doubt. They enter the married state young
and with much ceremony, and usually with public
assurances (which are regarded as necessary) of their
love for one another.* Marital infidelity is severely
punished by them. Still, being polygynous, the status
of women is low.

(c) The Dwarf Races of Central Africa were
formerly believed to be without morality, but through
the investigations of M. Le Roy who lived amongst
them for many years, as well as through recent studies
into the lives of the Pygmy races generally, and in
particular Mr. Man's examination f of the habits and
beliefs of the Andaman Islanders, reliable information
is now to hand which is completely at variance with the
older theories. These Pygmy races have been shown
to be possessed of a religion of pure monotheism, their
marriage system is one of strict monogyny, and in spite
of much licentiousness in practice, their beliefs and
laws are found to be comparable to those of the most
civilised races. Wessmann (whom Ratzel regards as
the most trustworthy authority on the Central Africans)
praises the " timidly modest, almost girlishly shy,
demeanour of the Batuas in the Basonge country " and
Ratzel speaks of them as a race " whose existence is
thoroughly justified on natural, and above all on social
grounds."

» Kat/.fl, II., 274.
For ail iiccouiii of these investigations see Vol. 1 1., pages 37, ^^5, 408.

ON SYNDERESIS 557

The North American Indians are remarkable for
their high moral code. Their truthfulness, honour and
kindness are proverbial. Robbery, at least from one
of the same tribe, is quite unknown amongst them.
P. de Smet, S.J., in his " Voyages dans I'Amerique
Septentrionale," gives proof of their high moral per-
ceptions. They punished severely robbery, marital
infidelity, murder, and lying. They did not favour,
though they allowed, polygyny. Their respect for
marriage was remarkable. Friendships between young
men and young women were allowed only with a view
to marriage. Disrespect to parents was punished
severely. Crimes committed in drunkenness were not
punished, which of itself may be regarded as proof of
the clearness of their moral views. Ratzel mentions
the absurd opinion advocated by some travellers, that
the purity of the Indian is due to his indolence — an
opinion which is valueless except as a testimony to
their purity.

The great fault of the Indian mind is the intensity of
its hate. In the matter of punishments the Indian
seems to have known no bounds. Such faults, how-
ever, are quite compatible with the possession of
high moral perceptions on the sacredness of the moral
law.

The Peruvians, though barbarous, had a very high
morality. Their form of government under territorial
viceroys, with one principal Inca or chief, was a despotic
monarchy of a very perfect kind. " Their laws," writes
Prescott, " were few and exceedingly severe. They
related almost wholly to criminal matters. . . .
The crimes of theft, adultery, and murder were all
capital."

The FuEGiANS, or inhabitants of Terra del Fuego,
who were once regarded as completely Un-Ethical,
have proved a great disappointment to the positivist
ethicians. It has been shown that, in spite of their
hard and unhappy lives and the abnormal conditions

558 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

of their ^vretched country, this people has still its moral
code dealing with such crimes as stealing, lying, marital
infidelity, and homicide. Of them Ratzel writes : *
" Hardly any race has been so much under-estimated
as the Fuegians in respect of intellectual capacity.
Their whole life is so wretched that it would seem
useless to speak of any spark of higher intuition. Yet
it would better correspond with the facts to lay special
emphasis on the way in which, in spite of all this, the
rites of the dead are here as faithfully observed and as
thoroughly performed as among opulent nations. . . .
They distinguish between good and evil spirits," etc.
Also — " Many customs point to the fear of punishment
(for crime) by higher powers — for instance, various
rules for food and abstinence." These can scarcely
be described as the customs of a people not knowing
good and evil.

The Hyperboreans. — " By far the greater number
of testimonies," writes Ratzel, " to the character of the
Hyperboreans are favourable. Honourable, good, in-
offensive, is the praise given by the Russians to nearly
all the inhabitants of Northern Asia. It is doubly
strong if we consider the mass of wickedness with
which for some decades the deportation of criminals
from Russia has been leavening the whole region." f

The general impression left at all events on us (who
are no specialists on the subject of Anthropology) by
our reading of the ways and habits of savage peoples
is, not that they did not know of a moral law or of
moral distinctions, but rather that, unless we hold that
their moral views have come down to them from a
former period of civilisation, it would be impossible to
account for their beliefs, so correct and so decisive, so
unalterable, and particularly so universal is their know-
ledge of the laws of nature — for instance, of marriage,
of truthfulness, of property, and of the right of men

•" V61k.," II,, 91
t Ibid., 201.

ON SYNDERESIS 559

to their vJives.* In the wretched condition in which
we now find many of these savage peoples the discovery
by them of such laws at any kind of later period seems
to us an absolute impossibility. Without tradition,
without the leisure necessary for thinking, with no
fixed habitation and no security against incursion from
other warlike and nomadic tribes, often with no settled
form of government and very little knowledge of, or
care for a " common good," these wretched peoples
could no more have formulated the code of laws which
they at present recognise f than a body of unthinking
vagrants could formulate it even under civilised con-
ditions. We are here dealing with a concrete case.
We know the conditions of life required for the making
of such laws as these, and we know that these con-
ditions are not those under which the savage races now
exist.

The reader may not, indeed, consider that we are
justified by the facts in drawing such a conclusion as
that which we have just announced ; but he will, at
all events, agree that the statement that savages " are
entirely wanting in moral feeling " is utterly opposed
to fact, and to the clear testimony of History and
Anthropology.

A DIFFICULTY CONSIDERED

Our purpose in the foregoing argument has been to
sliow that, because savages are possessed of moral
codes not very different from our own, their moral
beliefs must also be the same in character as ours. But
in connection with this argument a difficult}^ presents
itself, of which much has been made by Lord Avebury
and others, and which it will be necessary to consider

* Whether, even in this former state of civilisation, these laws
were given by revelation or were discovered by Reason is quite another
question.

•f It IS the universality and the decisiveness of their moral percep-
tions timt we most insist upon here.

56o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

here — namely, whether it is lawful to conclude that
because the savage codes of conduct are largely similar
to our own, their moral beliefs also must be of the
same character as our own. The difficulty may be put
as follows : May it not be that if the savage avoids
murder and adultery and theft he avoids them either
from instinct, as the animals avoid certain actions, or
(if he acts from Reason) from some non-moral motive,
such as because it pays to avoid them and not because
he believes that these things are intrinsically evil. In
either case practice would be no guarantee of the
presence in the savage mind of moral beliefs such as
civilised men possess. If we attribute moral percep-
tions to savages simply because they perform their
natural duties of parental and filial love, then, says
Lord Avebury, " we must equally well credit rooks and
bees and other gregarious animals with a moral state
higher than that of civilised men," *

Now, this difficulty may be met by the following
considerations : (i) If savages in their external acts
follow the same laws of conduct that prevail amongst
ourselves it devolves upon our opponents to show that
the motives of savages in so doing are different from
ours — that is, that the practices of savages proceed
either from instinct, as is the case with animals, or
from some non-moral motive like that of avoiding
certain painful consequences, instead of from a per-
suasion that these acts are intrinsically evil and to be
avoided. But this, so far as we are aware, our op-
ponents have not succeeded in doing. (2) It is evident
that instinct is not the sole motive power of the moral
practices of savages. For savages of the very lowest
grade have Reason just like civilised men, and where
Reason is present it must, to a large extent, become
the guide of conduct. Besides, savages are possessed
of written codes, or at least they are able to give
intellectual expression to their tribal laws, from which

• " Origin of Civilisation," page 416.

ON SYNDERESIS 561

we conclude that intellect, not instinct, is their internal
principle of conduct. Again, in punishing certain
crimes, savages allow for certain mitigating circum-
stances, such as the fact of their being committed in
drunkenness, which plainly is possible only to Reason.

Then, again, the motive is not some lower non-moral
end, such as that some conduct pays and other conduct
injures, but a persuasion that certain actions are in-
trinsically good and to be done and others intrinsically
bad and to be avoided. For, in the first place, many
of the testimonies of travellers concern not merely the
acts of savages but their confessions that certain acts
are good and others evil, and in these confessions there
is no mention of any extrinsic motive such as the pain
or the pleasure that results from conduct or of any
condition on which the goodness or badness of these
acts depends, but only the simple proposition that some
acts are good (categorically good) and others evil ; in
other words, that acts are morally and intrinsically
good or evil. Secondly, savages believe that the gods
will and must punish certain very heinous crimes, a
belief which could only arise from a conviction of the
intrinsic evil of these crimes. Thirdly, the nuptial
rites and ceremonies so characteristic of savage mar-
riages denote their belief in a certain inner sacredness
attaching to the state of marriage, and consequently
a belief in the intrinsic moral evil of any courses of
conduct that are not in accordance with the marriage
law.

These are only a few of the arguments that might

be used in answer to Lord Avebury. But it seems to

us little better than wanton and unreasoning unfairness

to claim that the very same courses of conduct that,

in the case of civilised men, spring solely from our

moral belief in their intrinsic goodness may, in the

savage races, be the outcome of other faculties or other

motives, or even to expect us to prove that the motives

in tiie two cases are the same. The savage is a man,
Vol. 1—36

562 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

in all essentials just like ourselves, and his mental con-
stitution must, as regards the ultimate principles and
springs of action, be the same as ours.

Some Principles for Estimating the Value of the
Testimonies of Positivists

We think it well to put before the reader the follow-
ing points which we think should be borne in mind in
estimating the value of testimonies such as those
quoted by Lord Avebury and P. Ree concerning the
moral beliefs of savages : —

(i) Those testimonies which are opposed to ours are
not intended generally to prove that no savage races
acknowledge moral distinctions, but only that particular
tribes acknowledge none.

(2) Where two men testify, one that he could not
observe any knowledge of moral distinctions amongst
certain savage tribes, the other that he did observe
these distinctions and that a knowledge of them was
evinced in the customs and laws of these peoples, and
proved by their own admissions to him, then this
second testimony is to be accepted and not the first
(competency, etc., of course, being supposed). This
may seem a strange and a one-sided claim to make,
but it is quite logical, and it would hold in any science
that depended upon observation as that of Anthro-
pology does. If two astronomers testify, one that he
has observed a comet, not for a moment only but for a
long time, and clearly, another, viewing the same part
of the heavens, that he has observed none, then this
second testimony is not supposed to prevail against
the first, or even to impair its value, since the conditions
which favour observation may not have been realised in
this second case.

Still, we admit that, in the case of morals, we should
be able to explain why it is that a competent observer
has failed to recognise the presence of moral bclicls in

ON SYNDERESIS 563

those very same cases in which other observers seem
to have had very httle difficulty in finding them. The
causes of this faihire may be man}^ — (a) prejudice in
favour of a particular Ethical theory, [b) romance — or
the desire to meet, or to seem to have met, people
with customs wholly different from our own, (c) incom-
plete observation consequent on hurry (not an unknown
thing with travellers), or upon ignorance of the lan-
guage,* {d) the natural reserve of savage peoples them-
selves in their dealings with strangers, f {e) more than
all others, the habit of concluding from the prevalence
of immoral practices to the absence of all moral beliefs.
It is, in general, exceedingly difficult, and, indeed,
impossible, to argue from the dissoluteness of a race,
to the total absence of moral principle or moral beliefs
amongst its members. Thus (to take a case mentioned
by Lord Avebury J), according to Casalis, the Basuti,
on the death of their chief, gave themselves up to every
sort of licentiousness until his successor was appointed.
Can we accept the conclusion that, therefore, they
regarded all law as dependent on the will of their chief,
whose death annulled the law ? If so, then future
historians might also judge that most workmen in
certain Scotch and English cities regard the law of
temperance as suspended on bank holidays, since on
that day so many people act as if it were suspended.
It is always difficult to argue from outward action to
inner belief. If action never contradicted inner con-
viction there would be no sin. De facto, we can show
proof of the pure moral beliefs of the Basuti.

(3) As many cases of immorality recorded appertain
to injustice we must be careful to ascertain whether
the alleged acts are really acts of injustice, or w^hether

* A remarkable instance of mal-observation is provided in the
case of the Andaman Islanders. For years these were regarded as
without religion or marriage. They are now known to be a highly
religious people, and monotheists, whilst their marriage system is
one of strict monogyny. See Vol. II., pages 37 and 45.

I See instance of Maoris, Vol. II., page 39.

j " Origin oJ Civilisation," page 418.

564 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

they are not rather acts that, to the untutored mind,
might seem allowable, even though these minds pos-
sessed a keen sense of justice and of the law generally.
It is hard to expect, for instance, that in an environ-
ment of plunder, such as nomadic and warlike races
live in, men will be delicate about the appropriation of
other people's goods, when there is absolutely no
security for their own. May it not seem to them that
if all men steal from them, they may steal freely in
return ? And are they wholly wrong ?

(4) We should be careful to ascertain whether the
cases in question are really cases of natural law or
only of positive law. Positive laws may and must
differ according to circumstances of environment and
needs, and consequently the positive laws of savages
cannot be the same as ours. Even the natural law may
vary to some extent in various nations, since it often
depends in its application upon positive conditions
which in their variety and unaccountableness must
yield very different codes of morality in different cases.
Again, the secondary principles of morality may vary,
though the primary cannot.* These differences are
often left out of view in treating of the manners and
beliefs of savages.

(5) We do not claim, in the case of savages, any
certain knowledge of morality further than that of the
simpler primary moral principles and immediate and
easy deductions from them. In complicated cases —
cases, namely, in which there is more than one moral
principle involved — it would be strange if the savage
mind were to judge, not only invariably, but eyen
often, aright. In these difficult cases, as a rule, it is
to be expected that untutored minds will just come to
such conclusions as suit their own individual and racial

• Thus, much is often made of the practice of polygyny and of dis-
soluble marriaRos amongst savage races, though neither of these is
opposed to the primary princijiles of the natural law. For dilfereuce
of primary and sucoudury principles sec Vol. II., pages 417, 419, 425,
429.

ON SYNDERESIS 565

convenience. Take the case of homicide as an instance.
The law in civiHsed countries is roughly this — that no
man may kill another unless in self-defence or when
authorised by the State to do so — that in war he may
kill an enemy whenever he meets one. Now, no savage
nation would allow the killing of a man by one of his
own tribe. If it allows killing in other cases, the reason
is that inter-tribal warfare is the normal condition of
these nomadic races. We have, however, express
testimony that respect for human life in many cases
extends outside the tribal limits, i.e., that some races
forbid the killing of all except members of tribes known
to be hostile. On the general principles, therefore,
the views of savages would seem to be fairly correct,
and if on applied questions, as to when competing
interests justilies the killing of others, they sometimes
hold erroneous views, their error is to be attributed
to the poverty and unreliability of the savage judgment
in practically all spheres of thinking, wherever the
problem is in the least complicated.

But let us now take the two cases of patricide and
infanticide, so much relied on by positivists. The old
and infirm were, in the case of some savage tribes,
often freely done away with, and deformed and
illegitimate children were strangled at birth. Now,
these are cases of the complicated ethical problem of
which we have spoken, which only the trained mind
may be trusted to solve aright. Take, first, the killing
of aged parents. The savage finds himself here con-
fronted with two or three important moral principles.
The first is the principle that the killing of a relation is
a very great evil. In that conviction all savage tribes
agree, and the most stringent laws are enacted against
the killing of a member of one's own family. Secondly,
there is the principle of affection for an aged and infirm
parent, who must be protected from pain. Now, in
the cases under, discission, it seems to us that this
principle of affection was itself the actuating force that

565 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

gave rise to this apparently cruel custom of patricide,
because in cases of patricide death seemed to be the
only source of relief for the aged and the infirm. For
it should be remembered that these wandering tribes
had to be ever ready to break up their camps and fly
at the approach of other hordes stronger than their
own, and that should an attack be made the old and
infirm should necessarily become captives and be sub-
jected to torture. Torture and death were the general
fate of prisoners of war. We have, indeed, the testi-
mony of Flugel and Waitz that Indian Chiefs over and
over again enacted laws against the torturing of those
whom their subjects had taken in battle, but we know
also from the same authorities that, though these efforts
to improve matters were often successful, they were
not always so. Thirdly, there was question here of a
principle so difficult of solution even for us civilised men,
as to how far the private good must be subjected to the
necessities of the State, and if the tribe was to main-
tain its existence, it was necessary that its movements
should not be impeded in any way in case of flight.
But that the old and helpless would impede it there
could be no doubt. Here, then, were several principles
which it was not easy for the savage to reconcile or to
choose between, and it is no wonder if he chose what
seemed to be at once the more filial and the more
patriotic course — namely, with all delicacy and affection
to put his parent out of the reach of pain, and at the same
time to set his tribe free to make the best of its oppor-
tunities against any other tribe that might appear.

The case of children offered a similar difficulty.
After the birth of her child the savage mother was
often, as Westermarck tells us, abandoned by her
husband, who felt himself free to roam the plains, and
often did not return for two or three years. Should a
strange tribe come down upon them during that time,
the mother and child, not being able, to fly with the
rest, should necessarily be captured ; and it is not

ON SYNDERESIS 567

wonderful if, to the savage mother's mind, it seemed
better to do away with the child at once than to risk
both its safety and her own. Illegitimate children were
killed because there was nobody to support them, and
deformed children because, either they were a menace
to the race, or because they were believed to be of no
good import. These are all complicated moral cases,
and it is not wonderful that the savage mind could not
solve them correctly. But they by no means prove that
the savage mind knew nothing about the immorality
of homicide. Even the Romans, who could scarcely
be said to favour homicide, passed the law of the Twelve
Tables.*

In such concrete cases as these, therefore, the savage
mind must often err. But on the broader principles
of the natural law their racial sense was generally
correct. They did not all believe in monogyny or in
indissoluble marriage. But these things are after all
not primary principles of nature. Neither, indeed, was
marriage always the formal ceremony that it is to us.
But in the necessity of it they had a firm belief. How-
ever, on the love of parents, on the rights of men, both
as against one another and against society, on the
wrongfulness of murder, on the sanctity of the hearth,
on the excellence of justice, and benevolence, and
fortitude, they were beyond question possessed of such
a certitude as could scarcely be expected from men of
very undeveloped minds, and most unthinking lives.
That here and there cases may be found of races so
degenerate as to evince scarcely any moral life what-
soever we are quite prepared to admit. We have
already said that Conscience may decay. But from
this we must not conclude that Conscience is not a
constant human possession, or that it is but the result
of training of custom or of convention.

* Savages have no severer laws than those enacted by the Romans
against the slaves, such as the law that, if the master of the house were
killed, the slaves also should die to a man.

568 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

In conclusion we may be permitted to express some
surprise that men even of culture and learning would
seek to determine what is natural in our beliefs from
the practices and attainments of the lowest and poorest
members of our race, instead of from the highest and
the best. Men do not judge of the powers of the eagle
from one that has never been allowed to see the open
heavens, and consequently never comes to be the
splendid thing that it is meant to be in the design of
nature. Why should we judge of what is natural to
man from the attainments of the mentally decrepit and
the solitary, for whom the circumstances of their lives
have made thought and development impossible ? *

Though ethicall}^ therefore, we should have no
difficulty in admitting the possibility of very wide
differences between the savage codes and ours, still,
looking at the matter historically, we are convinced
that not only have savages their moral feelings and a
firm grasp of the general difference between right and
wrong, but that their detailed codes are in the main
right, and in principle, so far at all events as the primary
laws of nature are concerned, are exactly like our own.
We are convinced that the study of the Naturvolker
discloses between their morality and ours a degree of
identity on all the broader principles which is far beyond
what ethically and logically we should have expected
or been prepared for, considering that in other things
civilisation and savagery stand so far apart.

II. " Homo Sapiens Ferus " f

It is contended that the wild man of the woods —
the solitary — is conscious of no moral law. How, then,

• We have not mentioned the argument that even savages often
use terms expressing certain crimes as their vilest and most opprobrious
terms of abuse. St. Paul gives prominence to the argument in another
connection.

t The solitary is to bo carefully distinguished from the savage, foi
the savage livts in society and lias the use of speech, the solitary lives
alone and has never learned to .speak.

ON SYNDERESIS 569

it is asked, can Conscience be regarded as natural to
man ? We have already said something on this ques-
tion in another chapter. But a word in addition may
not be out of place. It will not be necessary here to
take up the various authentic cases brought together
by Rauber in his remarkable work on the wild human
solitaries — " Homo Sapiens Ferus." But, looking at
these cases generally, we believe that they will be
found to confirm a view to which we have already
given expression — namely, that Reason, absolutely un-
aided, and especially unaided by speech, is incapable
of exercise except in the crudest possible way, and,
therefore, is scarcely capable of forming for itself any
conclusion of permanent value, whether in Mathematics
or in Morals, or in anything else. If, however, the
faculty of Reason, through want of use, has not de-
generated, if only a few words be possessed, then with
even the beginnings of thought supplied the individual
can advance very rapidly on the way to moral truth,
and can soon come to believe in moral distinctions
apart from authority, and can embrace the moral truth
in and for itself, and show a grasp of moral relations
as real and as secure as that which he possesses of the
more elementary truths of Mathematics.

Now this view is confirmed by the study of the cases
mentioned by Rauber.

In every instance recorded by Rauber the Solitary's
mind bore in the main the same relation to Morals as it
did to Mathematics or to any natural science. Before
the mind could make any inferences it had to be taught
a language, and its attention had to be directed to some
particular sphere of thought. When the attention of
these wild solitaries was directed to the moral law *

* The wild maiden of Champagne, mentioned by Rauber, had
evidently used her thinking faculty in some way, early in life, for
though she could not speak she remembered to have at some time seen
houses, which was probably a remembrance of her home from which
she had been lost before she learned to speak. This may have been
the reason why there was no difiiculty in teaching her the moral law,
and the rudiments of religion. The moral law became tu her a rea ity

570 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

and to moral distinctions between acts, their moral
beliefs came home to them as rapidly as any others,
such as those of Mathematics or Physics, or rather
much more rapidly. We have records in Rauber's
work of the high degree of moral culture attained by
many of these reclaimed children of nature. We have,
as far as we remember, no record of their attaining to
anything like proficiency in other branches of learning.

To sum up — We have seen how differences of moral
codes are quite compatible with the natural and per-
manent character of the moral laws themselves. If
racial intellects differ in point of keenness, why not
their deductions differ also ? — and morality is for the
most part a deduction. Besides, even civilised men
often fail to solve complicated moral cases. Why
should not the untrained mind fail to solve compara-
tively easy ones ? Experience, too, as we saw in our
chapter on the moral criterion, plaNS a very large part
in the drawing of our moral conclusions. For instance,
we have often to discover the effect of a course of
action on the race, before we can tell whether it is
natural. And if the race be unsettled and without
traditions, as is for the most part the case with savages,
such effects as these are hot easily calculated. Ethically,
therefore, we see no reason why we should not own up
to very large differences in moral codes, for, even though
morals are natural, there is great room for differences in
human belief.

in an incredibly short space of time, as real as it is to us ; and her
moral ideas were the most refined and intense. Later in life, meeting
with some mishap and fearing tliat she was going to die of hunger,
she uttered the prayer which Kauber quotes for us, and which for
simple beauty could scarcely be surpassed. " Oh God, why didst
Thou take me out of the solitude where 1 had plenty to eat, in order
now to let me die of hunger. But Thou canst not let me die," etc.
The delicacy of the nu)ral feeling exlubited in this prayer could not
be possible to one who until ten years of age had lived without moral
training of any kintl, unless the moral law when once it is put before
the mind comes home to it with that fulness and reality that attaches
only to a system of real objective natural truth.

ON SYNDERESIS 571

APPENDIX

Ethicians have made various attempts to reconcile the
variation of moral codes amongst different races with the
theory of natural moral perceptions. Of these we shall
here quote two,* one, the theory of "formal identity " with
differences of matter, the other, the theory of " kernal identity "
with differences in the stage of development attained. Pro-
fessor Kittel, to whom Elsenhans attributes the first theory
(it really is the same as Fichte's theory of Conscience), con-
tends that the form of conscience is given in the law — " The
good is to be done " — the matter in the determination of
what is good. On the former he says all are agreed, on the
latter we differ. The only unity that is necessary for natural
law is that of form, the supplying of which is the essential
function of Conscience.

Now, this theory we cannot accept. In the first place, it
is not true that the matter of conscience can so vary as to
leave no common element in our moral beliefs as individuals
or as races. In the second place, there is no such thing as a
distinction of form and matter in moral truths. The principle
that " the good is to be done " is as much a part of the matter
of conscience as the principle that " murder is to be avoided."
Thirdly, Conscience prescribes the whole law, and not merely
the abstract law of doing the good.

The second theory is that adopted by Dr. Elsenhans
himself. He argues that the development of a natural
organism may vary in any of three ways — (i) Some forms
may remain latent in one organism which in others are
developed ; (2) one organism may be in point of development
just a stage or a period in advance of the other, the two lines
of development being otherwise the same ; (3) two organisms
with the same original kernel of powers may develop in
response to two different sets of stimuli from environment,
so that the result attained must be different in each case.
It is in this third way that he explains the permanence and
variability of the moral conscience. Originally, he tells us,
the content of Conscience is the same for all. But it de-
velops differently in response to differences of environment.

We cannot, however, subscribe to Dr. Elsenhans' interest-
ing explanation because we do not regard conscience as an
original organism that develops from within in response to
stimuli. Conscience is nothing more than the ordinary
intellectual faculty which is moved to know by objective

* Taken from Elsenhans' " Wcsen und Entstehung des Gewisseas.

572 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

things and relations, and to such a faculty the analogy of
the budding flower or growing organism could not apply.
Secondly, we do not admit innate moral truths, which on
Dr. Elsenhans' theory are an absolute necessity. Thirdly,
in no environment could the human mind be without some
sense of the primary moral principles. Fourthly, environ-
ment does not justify all differences of moral judgments.
Some judgments are simply false and opposed to the per-
manent natural law, which is to a large extent quite inde-
pendent of the requirements of environment.

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE PROPERTIES OR ESSENTIAL CONSE-
QUENCES OF MORALITY

Every moral act has three properties or essential
consequences : —

(i) Rectitude, or direction of the will of the agent to
the ultimate end, or its opposite — " wrongfulness."

(2) Imputability* or relation of ownership between a
man and his act, and the consequent attributing of it
in praise or blame to him as cause.

(3) Merit, or claim to retribution according to Justice,
and its opposite — Demerit.

(i) Of Rectitude. It will not be necessary at this
point to speak at any length of rectitude and wrongful-
ness. Rectitude or rightness adds something to mere
goodness as sin adds something to mere evil. Any
perfection in an object is good and any privation of a
good in anything — that is, any want of that perfection
which is naturally due to a thing — is evil. But " recti-
tude " emphasises the fact that a thing which is
ordained to a certain end moves to the attainment of
that end,t whereas wrongfulness means that something
which is ordained to a certain end fails to move towards
its attainment. Now, direction to a given end always
implies a rule of action, which rule of action in material
things is their own nature. But man is directed by
Reason his rule of direction being proximately his own
Reason, and ultimately the eternal law. A right action,
therefore, is one that follows the law of human Reason
and the Eternal law. A wrong action or a sin is one
which violates these laws.

* The word " imputability " is used indiflPerently of bad and good
acts. " Responsibility " is most often used of bad acts only.

t This in addition to the conception of good as fulness of being.

573

574 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

(2) Imputahility and responsibility depend on owner-
ship. He who produces an act or is the principal
cause of it owns it, and, therefore, an act is imputable
to the agent who produces or is the principal cause of
it. But we have already seen * that to be free and
to be (principal) cause of an act are one and the same
thing. Therefore, the ground and intrinsic cause of
imputahility is freedom. Freedom has thus a more
direct connection with imputahility than with moral
goodness. For of morality it is only the primary con-
dition, whereas of imputahility it is the ground or
intrinsic cause. Since, however, freedom has been
already sufficiently considered in another chapter it
will not be necessary at this point to enter into any
formal discussion on the nature either of imputahility
or of responsibility.

(3) The third property of morality will require fuller
and more careful consideration. We shall treat {a) of
Merit, {b) of Demerit.

(fl) Of Merit

(i) Merit is the right in justice to retribution for
some good bestowed on another. All merit is a relation
of justice, and it is based on the fact that good is done
to another, which good must in some way be repaid.
Now, we broadly distinguish between three grades of
justice according to the strictness of the law from
which the relation of justice springs. Sometimes an
act is due according to perfect f justice, and excludes
every element of grace or favour. Sometimes it is
due in perfect justice, but presupposes a grace or favour
of some sort, through which the relation of justice arises.
Sometimes it is due according to imperfect justice only.
From these three grades of justice arise three classes of

• Page 1 79.

t The full explanation of these terms — perfect and imperfect
Justice — is reservetl for our rliapler on Kinhls. The examjilis given
in the text will explain the terms sulliciciit ly for present purposes.

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 575

merit — (i) Merit de condigno ex rigore justitiae. (2) Merit
de condigno ex condignitatc. (3) Merit de congruo.

Merit de condigno ex rigore justitiae. — This kind of
merit excludes all grace or favour, and, as the name
itself signifies, it arises from strict law, and binds in
strict justice. Thus, to merit that a man fulfils his
side of contracts by our fulfilling our own side is to
merit de condigno ex rigore justitiae. It is a relation
that arises out of the purest bargaining between buyer
and seller, and there is manifestly no element in it of
grace, favour or liberality of any sort. It binds vi
operis, which means that we can point to the work
done, and on the ground of that work can press our
claim to retribution before the strictest legal tribunal.

Merit de condigno ex condignitate also binds in strict
justice and vi operis, but there is in it some element of
grace or favour. Thus, if I publicly guarantee that
he who wins a certain race will receive a reward of a
hundred pounds, and if in the hope of that reward
men enter for the prize, he who wins the race and fulfils
all the conditions of the race merits the reward pro-
mised. He merits, too, according to strict justice and
vi operis — that is, he can make good his claim to reward
by pointing to the work he has done, and need make
no appeal to my liberality or goodness when defending
his claim. He has a right in law to his reward.

Yet there is in this case some element of grace and
liberality which did not obtain in the case of merit ex
rigore justitiae, for in the case of the promise it is alto-
gether through my generosity that the work done
entitles a man to reward, and it is this element of
graciousness and favour that distinguishes this second
kind of merit from merit de rigore justitiae. (It is in
this second way principally that a man is said to merit
with God. For in His bounty God has promised to
reward certain of our acts which of themselves could
give us no claim to reward. Yet the promise once
made. He is bound {debet Sibi) to its fulfilment.)

576 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Merit de congrno binds according to imperfect justice
only. An example of this third kind of merit will best
explain its meaning. Suppose that I, a rich man, make
a present of some money to a poor man, he is not
bound in strict justice to return this money, for it is
given as a present, and no stipulation has been made
as to its return. If, however, the poor man should
later become rich, and I should be reduced to poverty
he is bound in such circumstances to help me according
to my w^ants. This obligation, however, is not one of
strict justice, but only of friendship and gratitude and
humanity, which, as we shall see in the following chapter,
are allied virtues to justice, and do not bind by a strict
law of justice. In such cases my former kindness is
not a sufficient title to present reward, and I have to
appeal to other considerations besides the work I have
done in claiming reward. I merit in friendship, not
vi operis.

Sometimes merit de congruo arises even in the case
of contracts, but always in connection with something
that is not itself strictly contracted for. Thus, suppose
that I engage to work for a certain number of hours a
day and to receive in payment a certain sum, and
suppose that for many years I work faithfully for my
master, never missing an hour, taking a more than
ordinary interest in my master's business, and pushing
it on in every way in my power — in this c^se I certainly
merit something more than the stipulated wages. For
though I have technically done no more than I con-
tracted to do, I have done more than I really
contracted to do, and should be rewarded accordingly.
For whatever may be the express terms of a contract,
a man really contracts to work in a human way only,
not in a perfect way, and every human thing is subject
to imperfection ; and, therefore, if a man works per-
fectly— that is in more than a human way — he has
done more for his master than he has really contracted
for, he has done a work which it would not be gracious

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 577

in a master to leave unrecognised. In strict justice
such a man has no claim to recognition ; he has no
claim vi operis. He cannot point to his work and
claim reward at law on account of it alone, because the
strict terms of the contract were that he should do all
that he actually has done. And so a master cannot
be strictly called unjust if he does not give more than
the stipulated wages in this case. But, at the same
time, the subject has really done more than he bar-
gained to do in his contract, as the world understands
contracts, and it will be an unfriendly and an ungrateful
thing to allow this extra labour to go unrequited.

It may be asked, however, what is the practical
effect of this kind of merit ? For it cannot, as we have
said, be pressed at law. Neither can it be said to
create a strict moral obligation, since the master who
pays the bare week's wages has done all that his con-
tract binds him under sin to do. How, then, can we
speak of merit of the kind described as real merit,
effective merit, merit that is of use to a man ? The
answer is : Though merit of this kind does not impose
a strict obligation of reward, yet it loads the dice in our
favour, for it gives us some title to reward — the title
not of a strict or perfect right but of imperfect right ;
and in most cases the result of such imperfect right is
that we probably shall get our reward. For most
masters are grateful, and consequently most masters
would have to steel their hearts in order to resist the
claims of faithful servants to some suitable reward.
Merit de congruo is, therefore, a reality which has its
effect in actual life, and, therefore, it has a right to be
considered in a work on Ethics.

(2) CONDITIONS OF MERIT

Merit requires (i) that our act be free, for it is a
relation of justice and, therefore, a moral or human and
free relation, (2) that that which we merit be not already

Vol. 1—37

578 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

due to us on another score,* (3) that our act must do
good to him with whom we merit.

(3) WITH WHOM CAN WE MERIT ?

(i) We merit with other men who benefit by our
acts, which is merit in its strictest sense, for all merit
is a relation of justice, and justice, properly speaking,
obtains only between equals,

(2) We can merit with society, and in two ways.
First, we merit with society by every good that we do
to individual men (even to ourselves), for that which
does good to the part benefits also the whole of which
it is a part. Secondly, we can merit with society by
the good which we do to society itself directly.

(3) We can merit with God, because a good act is
referred to God as our final end, and redounds to God's
honour — which is a cause of merit. A bad act is to
His dishonour, and, therefore. He can punish us for it.
Again, any act that merits with society merits with
God, who is its Supreme Ruler. But since there can
be no strict right against God, no man can merit with
God ex rigorc justitiae. But we can merit with Him
according to the two aspects of merit called respectively
ex condignitate and de congruo.

(4) SOME ERRONEOUS VIEWS ON MERIT

The views which we shall here discuss are three : —

(a) Leslie Stephen's theory that merit implies effort,
and therefore an element of disagreeableness to ourselves
in the work that we do.

{(i) The same author's contention that merit attaches
only to works of supererogation.

(y) The theory of Martineau and Shaftesbury that
merit and virtue arc in inverse ratio.

♦ Only in this sense can we accept the condition mentioned by
some Scholastic writers that a meritorious act must not be the result
of contract. Curiously enough Hobbes expresses the view that all
merit requires contract.

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 579

(a) Every action implies some effort,* and since merit
attaches to action only, merit necessarily supposes some
degree of effort. But the theory of Leslie Stephen is
that merit implies the overcoming of an opposing
desire, and that it, therefore, implies a special degree
of effort which is not required for action as such. It
is to this theory that we here take exception. Merit
is a relation of justice, and as a man must pay me for
goods that I sell him, whether the selling of these goods
be disagreeable or not, so merit depends on a good
done to another, and it arises whether the doing of such
good is disagreeable and requires effort or is agreeable
and does not require effort.

But though effort in the sense explained is not
required for merit, it is nevertheless a criterion of
degree of merit. To do a good act which is disagree-
able to ourselves is more meritorious ceteris paribus
than to do one which is agreeable, for in doing a dis-
agreeable thing there is greater will-activity — there is
the doing of the good act and the overcoming of an
opposed desire — and greater will-activity merits more
than less will-activity, just as two actions merit more
than one. Effort, then, though not an essential of
merit, can be a criterion of degree in merit.

{(i) Another erroneous theory is that of Leslie
Stephen, that merit belongs exclusively to works of
supererogation, t and that consequently acts which
to-day are meritorious because there is no moral neces-
sity to do them, may in a thousand years be devoid of
merit since in the meantime they may become our
duty. Now, this principle does not hold true always.
The man who wins a race has merited the prize, even

* Sidgwick remarks that, according to this theory, were there no
free will in the world all acts would be equally meritorious, since if
there were no free will there could be no effort.

t Martineau distinguishes merit and desert. The former implies
that the work done is one of supererogation. The latter makes no
such implication. Kant maintains that merit attaches to the fulfilment
of imperfect, not of perfect obligations.

58o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

though his master compelled him to enter for the race,
thereby making the race a duty ; consequently, merit
may attach to works which are not of supererogation.
But in many cases of merit de congruo this principle
does apply.

(y) The third theory that merit and virtue are in
inverse ratio is connected as a result with the theory
that merit implies effort.* Aristotle says that to the
truly virtuous man virtue is necessarily pleasant, from
which some modern ethicians conclude that the more
virtuous a man is the less effort he has to make in
order to do good, and, therefore, the less the merit
attaching to his acts.

Now, Aristotle's principle does not justify this con-
clusion. For (a) even though virtue makes good action
easy, still virtue itself is often acquired with difficulty,
and hence the virtuous man may have had to make
efforts to be good.f (6) In estimating merit regard
must be had, not merely to the effort used, but to the
good will of him who does the good act, it being possible,
for instance, that a strong man who lifts a fainting
person in the street may merit as much as the weak man

♦ Leslie Stephen compares virtue to value in use or intrinsic value
which is constant, merit to value in exchange, which is subject to
variation.

t This point recalls Prof. Dewey's treatment of an analogous
question — namely, how we are to reconcile the theory that to the
virtuous man virtue is easy with the apparently opposed view that
virtue supposes struggle, that virtue is the moral disposition in the
struggle with evil. Dewey's attempt at reconciliation consists in
explaining that the virtuous man is one who has had his fights, and
who now finds virtue easy as a consequence of his fights.

Prof. Simmel gives a similar solution of the same difficulty, and
illustrates his theory by an example taken from the art of Music. We
admire, he tells us, the virtuoso who plays without Music, on account
of two things — the case with which he plays a difficult piece and the
evident fact that his present proficiency is the result of much past
labour.

On this analogy with which Simmel illustrates his theory of virtue
and merit, we would remark that though we admire the present pro-
ficiency of the artist, and tliough we regard that proficiency as a proof
of high artistic ability, we do not regard his supposed long hours of
labour as evidence of high ability. Were we sure that his present
proficiency was secured without labour, we should admire his ability
all the more.

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 581

who does the same ; for the strong man migh^ be quite
as wilHng to give the same help that he now gives even
if it cost him more than it now does. Consequently, it
is not fair to the virtuous man to belittle the merits of
his acts because of his finding it easy to do good. The
virtuous man does good, not because he finds it easy,
but because it is good, and he might still do the good
even though he found the " good " difficult.

Hence, this principle of inverse ratio is not absolutely
true. But there is in it a certain element of truth that
must be taken into account in estimating the merit of
actions. Of two men, one of whom is born with a
tendency to drink, the other without such tendency,
the former generally merits more through his subse-
quent sobriety than the latter, because his sobriety
costs more.* In this sense the less virtuous man may
merit more.

The theory already mentioned that merit implies
effort and struggle introduces us to another kindred
theory, that " 7noral good always implies struggle " — a
view of moral goodness which we may be allowed to
criticise briefly here, though its bearing on the question
of merit is indirect and remote.

In explanation and defence of this theory that virtue
always implies struggle against certain opposing ten-
dencies. Professor Royce speaks ironically of the school-
master who considered that he was teaching his poor
pupils virtue when he exhorted them not to cherish in
their breasts the ambitious passions of an Alexander
and other great men of history whom there was no
possibility that they should ever imitate, and whose
ambitions, therefore, it was quite easy for them to avoid.
True virtue, he says, supposes struggle and effort, a
theory which he illustrates by examples from the
Science of Biology which represent life as maintaining
itself by the struggle of opposing elements. " Every

* We are here speaking of merit in the natural order only. The
question of supernatural merit would be treated quite differently by us.

582 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

function," he writes, " depends upon a corresponding
deficiency." " Living ... is constant dying." His
conclusion is that moral good must consist in the over-
coming of its opposite, which is the temptation to evil.
To the evident objection that his illustration from
Biology proves too much, since if good is the union of
opposites then no man could be actually good without
committing actual evil, Professor Royce replies that
" active disease is no part of the life of a healthy
organism," and that, so, actual evil is not necessary
to good, but that yet the warding-off of possible evil
is not only compatible with " good," but is a part of
and necessary to " good."

Our criticism of this theory — the theory that as life
and health consist in overcoming disease, so moral
goodness consists in the struggle against evil — is that
not only is active disease no part of a healthy organism,
but a healthy organism may exist without experiencing
even the tendency to disease, and consequently if the
analogy of Ethics with Biology is to be maintained,
moral good does not necessarily imply any tendency
to or struggle with evil. The analogy of inoculation is
sometimes used in support of the theory we are now
considering. But applied to Ethics such an analogy
is misleading and erroneous. No doubt it is a good
thing to innoculate bodies, and thus produce artificially
a struggle with disease in order that the body may be
able to resist this same disease more effectively if it
should appear later. But were we sure that disease
would not appear later we should not inoculate the
body, and we should not consider it necessary or even
useful to do so. So a person may be highly moral
who has had no struggle with evil, for evil is no neces-
sary part of our moral constitution. Hence, struggle
is not an essential of moral goodness. We admit, how-
ever, and this is the only element of truth in Professor
Royce's theory, that if a man were thrown into the
necessity of struggling against evil tendencies, and

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 583

were successful in his struggle, he will, as a rule, be all
the stronger and more virtuous for his victory.

But this theory has also a practical bearing which
we must consider. Some philosophers have actually
taught that since there can be no virtue without risk
and struggle against temptation, it is irrational to shun
the risk and the temptation. Milton's diatribe against
what he calls "cloistered virtue"* is an example of
such teaching. Professor Royce's attack on that virtue
as " cheap " which has never been in danger shows a
similar tendency.

Now, this teaching is both illogical and dangerous.
It is illogical because it supposes that goodness has
not a value in itself, that the whole value of good
action consists in the overcoming of evil. This we
cannot allow. Virtue has a value all its own, not a
money value indeed, but a moral value — a value that
is very much higher than that of riches. And having
a value in itself it should not be called " cheap," because
it has not been in contact with evil. Nowhere in his
work on Morals does* Professor Royce speak of that
health of body as "cheap " which has never been in
the vicinity of sickness, nor of those riches as " cheap "
which have never been nigh to being lost. Why ?
Because these things are valuable in themselves. Nc
sensible person would think of frequenting unsanitary
districts in order to incur the danger of fever, nor drink
intoxicating liquors in order to become proof against
intemperance, nor run grave risks of disfigurement in
order to enhance a good appearance. For such things
are valued on their own account, which is the very
reason why they are so carefully guarded from danger.
How then can it be irrational to shun temptations to
evil, or why should virtue be derided because it has not
been in contact with evil ? We repeat — virtue has a
value on its own account, as much so as the beautiful
face or bodily health, and it should be guarded from

* In his " Arcopagitica."

584 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

temptation or danger as far as is compatible with our
duties to God and to humanity, just as anything of
great price would be.

This theory is also, as we said, a dangerous theory.
For it is a dangerous thing to set a value on temptation
in any shape or form. Temptation, even if overcome,
does not always add to our moral strength. If tempta-
tion were necessarily a source of strength, then the
longer a temptation continues and is resisted the easier
we should find it to overcome temptation. But we
know that the opposite is the case. The man who
resists for half an hour may fail in the end through
" moral exhaustion " ; and from this we may rightly
conclude that temptation, even resisted, is not, as such,
a source of moral strength. Consequently it ought not
be represented as necessary to virtue.

But temptation overcome, if it is not necessary to
virtue or moral goodness, is always a title to greater
merit, a fact which may serve as an excuse for intro-
ducing the question of ' temptation and virtue ' into the
present chapter.

(&) On Demerit and Punishment

We can best understand the general theory of pun-
ishment by considering a special case. When a man
steals money justice requires that what is taken should
be restored ; also that reparation be made for any loss
sustained by the owner. This is the ordinary con-
ception of restitution to which, all are agreed, the thief
is bound in strict duty. But the liabilities created by
an act of stealing go farther still. Stealing is not
merely an injustice against my neighbour ; it is also
a violation of law and of the order established by law ;
it is not merely an injury but a crime and a sin also,
and all are agreed that through its criminal character
stealing renders a man liable to an additional penalty
over and above that of restitution to the individual.
It is this additional penalty with which the law visits

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 585

a criminal act that is spoken of as punishment. Not
only stealing but every violation of law renders a man
liable to punishment ; punishment is a natural and
invariable consequence of wrong-doing. The various
kinds of punishment and also its ground and reason are
the special subject matter of the present section.

Punishment is of two kinds — prospective and retro-
spective. Prospective punishment is punishment in-
flicted on account of the good effect which it produces
either on the offender or on society at large. As directed
to the improvement of the offender it is spoken of as
emendatory ; as directed to the prevention of crime in
society at large it is known as deterrent. Retrospective
punishment or punishment inflicted as reparation for,
or in vindication of a law which has been violated, is
spoken of as retributive.

Now it will not be necessary to refer at an}^ length
ot the right of rulers to inflict emendatory or deterrent
punishment. Rulers are charged with seeking the good
of their subjects in every act of government, and granted
that a man has put himself in the power of the law by
crime it is the right and even the duty of the ruler to
give proper consideration to this end ; and therefore
he may choose such a form of punishment as will at
once vindicate the majesty of the law and at the same
time help to improve the delinquent and to deter others
from crime. Indeed in the infliction of punishment an
earthly ruler ought to make the two latter ends his
chief consideration ; for though, as we shall show in
a moment, the retributive element is always present,
even where punishment is inflicted by the State, still
the chief function of an earthly ruler continues alwaj's
to be the promotion of the good of his subjects ; it is
for this that communities form into States and subject
themselves to the restrictions imposed by law. In in-
flicting punishment, therefore, a ruler should chiefly aim
at the interest of his subjects. He may even, if the good
of the offender and of society requires, dispense with

586 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

punishment altogether in particular cases, leaving it to
the Supreme Judge and Lawgiver to exact in His own
way whatever is necessary by way of vindication or
retribution.*

Let us now consider the question of retj;ibutiye punish-
ment. We shall first (a) quote a passage from St.
Thornas giving a far-reaching analysis of what retri-
butive punishment is : then {b) we shall quote his
doctrine on the purpose or ground of retributive
^punishment, {a) " We may argue," he writes,| " from
' the domain of physical nature to human affairs,
I that if any thing rises up against another, it suffers

loss from that other Passing to men we

find that each one has a natural inclination to react
on (or put down) one who rises up against him. But
whatever | things are contained in any order are in a
sense one in relation to the principle governing the
order. Hence whatever rises up against an order is
put down by that order and by the person who controls
it. But sin is an inordinate act and therefore whoever
sins acts against some order : consequently he must
be put down or degraded by that order ; which degra-
dation is punishment. Hence man may be punished
by a threefold punishment according to the three orders
to which he is subject. In the first place human nature
is subject to the order of human reason ; secondly, to
the order of human government, spiritual of temporal,
political or economic ; thirdly, to the general order of
divine government. Each of these orders is upset by
sin, for a sinner violates the order of reason, of human
law, and of divine law ; hence he incurs a triple penalty,

• " Pocnac praescntis vitae," writes St. Thomas (" S. Thcol.," II.
II., Q. LXVI. Art. 0), " ntagis sunt medicinalcs quam rctributivae ;
retributi'i enim resorvatur divino Judicio quod est secundum voritatem
in peccantcs " {Italics ours).

t .S'. Jheol. 1. 11., Q. LXXXVII., Art. i.

j St, Thomas reasons very carefully here. Punishment is not of
the nature of violence done to a thing completely outside itself, but a
reaction of the whole against the part. It is therefore a reaction which
is the right of the injured organism and of the ruler who has charge
of ilH interests, tlie part being subject to the whole. The argument
goes to show that punishment besides being natural is rightful also.

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 5«7

one from himself, viz., remorse of conscience, one from
men, and a third from God."

Retributive punishment is therefore the natural re-
action of law and ruler upon the wrong-doer ; it is
analogous to the reaction that takes place upon impact
between one body and another, and to the natural
reaction of self-defence amongst living things. " Punish-
ment," writes Mr. Bradley is, " the reaction of the
moral organism."

[b] In his Theory of Good and Evil, Prof. Rashdall,
referring to the doctrine of ' reaction,' just described,
makes the admission that in punishment the ruler does
rise up against and reacts on the criminal. " I don't
deny," he writes, " that in punishment the organism
reacts against the criminal " ; but he goes on to ask
the reasonable question, " Why ought it so to react ?
If it has a purpose in doing so let that purpose be ex-
pressed." This question leads us to the ground or pur-
pose of retributive punishment which again is clearly
set forth by St. Thomas Aquinas following Aristotle.
The ruler, he tells us, reacts on or punishes the criminal
in order, by inflicting loss, to restore the equilibrium of
welfare or happiness which the criminal has unjustly
disturbed in his own favour and at the expense of the
rest of the order of which he forms a part. " An act *
of sin," he writes,* " makes a man liable to punishment,
because he has transgressed the order of divine justice,
to which order it is impossible to return except through
a certain penal compensation which restores the equi-
librium of justice. So that he who has indulged hisj
own will inordinately, by acting against the Divine
law suffers according to the order of Divine justice
something contrary to his will. And the same is ob- \
served in the case of injuries done to men, viz., by the
infliction of pain the equilibrium of justice is once more '
restored." And Aristotle writes if "the judge tries'

• " S. Theol." II. II., Q. LXXXVII., Art. 6.
t Nich. Eth., v., 4, 5.

588 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to restore equality by the penalty or loss which he
inflicts on the offender, subtracting it from his gain.
For in such cases, though the terms are not always
quite appropriate, we generally talk of the doer's gain,
and the sufferer's loss." * Retributive punishment
therefore restores the equilibrium of justice by the'\
infliction of an evil equivalent to a man's ill-gotten
pleasure. The law looks equally to the right distri-
bution of pleasures as it does to the right distribution
of material goods ; indeed, material goods are only a
means to pleasure. And therefore just as the law will
insist on the restoration of goods unjustly secured at
the expense of another, thereby restoring the order of
justice, so also it insists on the neutralising by pain
of pleasure secured at the expense of the public order ;
and that is what crime and sin are — the inordinate
indulging of our own will or the inordinate securing of
pleasure at the expense of the law or of the order re-
quired by reason. The restoration of the right order of
pleasures by the infliction of a proportionate pain is
what we mean by retributive punishment. What each)
sin is in relation to justice can most easily be seen
from the idea of injustice ' writ large.' Let every man
be free to violate the law at will, and order and justice
would be completely removed from the world. | So

* Kant is amongst the most vigorous defenders of the retributive
view. See Philosopliy of Right, part II., i.

t We have not considered the question of the measure of punishment
or what the degree of punishment ought to be. This would be clearly
very difficult to determine in general terms in the case of crimes against
the State. In regard to the Divine Law evidently the most serious
part of punishment is the loss of the end to whicli the law is directed, "
i.e. the last eml. We do not with Butler regard punishment as equiva-
lent to all the consequences of crime, as being hurt follows from a fall.
But such consequences as are decreed by the Lawgiver are certainly
sp ial in character. Most terrible of ail, and indeed most natural,
I the loss of our final end. Just as a tree in which the natural require-
ments arc not fullillcd must fail to reach its natural end, so man by
violating the natural law misses his natural end.

We may l»e permitted to refer at this point to another erroneous
theory of retributive punishment be.side that of Butler, viz., the theory
of IV-ntham that retributive or what he culls vindictive punishment
is " the pleasure of vengeance to the party injured." Vengeance and

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 589

also each crime and sin are a partial disturbance of the
right order of enjoyable things.

From all this it will be understood that not only in
the Divine order, but also in that of human law, though
the earthly ruler may be more concerned with the
future welfare of his subjects than with the restoring
of justice, yet the retributive element is first and funda-
mental in all. For emendatory punishment supposes
crime and can only be inflicted on account of crime.
The ruler would have no right to inflict pain on his
subjects merely for the sake of emendation. Punish-
ment can be inflicted only when the order of the law has
been broken in on through the commission of a crime.

Now many writers, particularly those of the Utili-
tarian school have attempted to defend the opposite
theory. Following Plato they maintain that punish-
ment is essentially prospective in character, i.e., either
emendatory or deterrent. What is spoken of as retri-
butive punishment is, they claim, not only not funda-
mental, but is an injustice and immoral. Pain is an
evil, they say, and therefore retributive punishment
instead of neutralising evil, is itself a new evil and a
wrong. They claim moreover that the conception of
duty makes clear the prospective and not the retributive
theory of punishment. " It is maintained," writes
Sidgwick, " that ought implies can, and in a certain
sense the Determinist will agree to the contention
because a man should be able to do what he ought to
do. But if he is not able to do this his inability
arises from want of sufficient motives, and it is
precisely this want of sufficient motives that punish-
ment (emendatory punishment of course) is meant to
supply."

Against this view that punishment is primarily and

retributive punishment are not the same. Vengeance aims at pleasure
the pleasure of hurting an enemy and always supposes a wrong done
to one's self personally or to some one whom the avenger loves. Punish-
ment aims at securing justice simply, and proceeds out of the cold
judgment that the law has been violated.

590 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

essentially prospective in character we urge the follow-
ing arguments :

First — In the popular mind (and we see no reason
for thinking that the popular conception is here at
fault) punishment is always retrospective in character.
It is always regarded as inflicted on account of a crime.
The use of a surgeon's knife is not regarded as punish-
ment even though it is painful and aims at the emenda-
tion of the subject. Nor would the popular mind con-
cede to a judge the right to inflict pain on any person
merely for the sake of improving him or deterring
others from crime. The popular idea of punishment
is very truly set forth by Kant. A man " must first
be found guilty and punishable, before there can be any
thought of drawing from his punishment any benefit
for himself or his fellow-citizens." *

Secondly, in the case of every crime a law is violated,
and this criminal element is always present where
punishment is inflicted. But sometimes punishment
may be inflicted where there is no question of an emen-
datory or deterrent element. The emendatory theor}^,
e.g., could not apply in the case of capital punishment,
whilst the deterrent theory supposes a certain proneness
in the community to the violation of law, whereas it is
possible to imagine punishment inflicted on an individual
living in a community, the other members of which
have no similar tendency to evil.

Thirdly, punishment must generally be proportioned
to the crime. Now, were the emendatory end primary^
this would not be the case, since, then, punishment
should be proportioned not to the crime", but to what
is necessary for the improvement of the criminal.

These two statements of ours (a) that punishment should
be proportioned to the crime {b) that on the emendatory
theory this would be impossible, have been called in question
by adherents of the emendatory theory. They say (a) that

• But a judge may much more easily abstain from inllicling pain
than assume tlie right of inflicting it.

ESSENTIAL CONSEQUENCES 591

punishment is not and need not be proportioned to the
crime since for the same deed a known criminal is punished
more severely than a first offender ; {b) that even if punish-
ment should be proportioned to the crime, the emendatory
theory would still stand, since it is by proportioning punish-
ment to the crime committed that associations of pain are
formed which will most effectively lead to the avoidance of
future crime.

To these two objections we reply as follows : (a) first
offenders are, as a rule, less guilty than hardened criminals,
since they are more inexperienced and ignorant. The lighter
punishment inflicted on them is proof, therefore, of the
retributive, rather than of the emendatory character of
punishment. Again, even though we claim that punish-
ment should be proportioned to the crime we do not say that
the proportion should be exact. Punishment is essentially
retributive, but some margin should be left for purposes of
emendation. Hence the lighter punishment inflicted on
. some does not disprove the fundamentally retributive
character of punishment. Again, an offence repeated is
graver in its consequences to the community than a first
offence. For crime is contagious and tends to spread in
proportion as it is repeated. Hence repeated crime ought
to be punished more severely. Differences, therefore, in
punishment confirm rather than disprove the retributive
theory, since they correspond to differences in the crime
committed.

{b) To the second objection given above, viz., that even
if it were true that punishment should be proportioned to
the crime, the emendatory theory would still hold good,
since it is only by proportioning punishment to the crime
that the required deterrent associations are formed, we
reply : these painful associations could be secured if punish-
ment were inflicted on the occasion of the crime, and without
proportioning one to the other. Hence, in the emendatory
theory punishment need not be proportioned to the crime.

Fourthly, we claim that on the emendatory theory
it would be useless, and, therefore, immoral, to punish
a hopeless recalcitrant. But even the hopeless recal-
citrant must be punished. Therefore, the emendatory
theory is not true. Our third and fourth arguments
taken together yield us the following strong case
against the emendatory theory : {a) even if emenda-

592 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

tion were possible only by the infliction of very grave
punishment such punishment could not be inflicted
unless the crime committed were also grave : {b) on
the other hand, a grave crime may be punished very
severely even though emendation be regarded as wholly
impossible. In neither case, therefore, is punishment
to be explained by the motive of emendation. It rests
in both cases upon a deeper purpose.

To our fourth argument it may be objected that a
hopeless recalcitrant might be punished on the pro-
spective the'ory as a means to preventing others from
wrong-doing) for punishment may be deterrent as well
as emendatory. And we fully admit the force of this
answer in so far as it favours the deterrent theory.
But we do not consider that punishment as deterrent
could stand alone. It could not be right to inflict ,
punishment on any man simply for the sake of others.,
Personal pain presupposes either personal guilt or the
possibility of personal improvement ; and since, in the
case considered, improvement is out of the question,
we cannot agree that punishment could be inflicted
unless punishment be mainly retrospective.

This concludes our case against the theory that
punishment is primarily prospective — i.e., is either
emendatory or deterrent.

CHAPTER XVIII

OF HABITS AND VIRTUES

Meaning of Habit.— In its widest meaning " habit '*
is any quality in an object which increases or
diminishes its perfection. Thus, beauty, strength,
virtue are habits. Also ugliness, weakness, vice.

In this wide sense habits are divided into entitative
and operative — the first class being those habits that
perfect or impair the substance of a thing, the second
class of habits being those that perfect or impair a thing
in . its powers. Thus, beauty is an entitative virtue,
piano-playing is an operative habit.

Now, since Ethics has principally to do with action,
we are as ethicians interested in operative habits only.
In this sense habit properly defined is — any quality
whereby an agent who is by nature indifferent to a
certain course of action or to the opposite course comes
to be permanently inclined to one course rather than to
another. In the pages that follow we shall speak of
habits in this restricted sense of operative habits only.

We said in our definition that an operative habit
dwells only in indifferent or undetermined powers. By
this we do not mean that operative habits dwell exclu-
sively in powers that 'are free, for there are some powers
which are not free, and which yet, not being determined
to one way of acting, can admit of operative habits.
Thus, animals can be trained by different methods to
move in different ways, and any permanent tendency
got by training to move in a particular way is an
operative habit. But, in its fullest sense, habit dwells
» in free powers only, because only the free subject is
undetermined in the proper sense of the word.

That habit dwells only in such powers as are not

Vol. I.-3S 593

594 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

determined to one mode of action is evident. For if
a thing is by nature determined to one end only, and
can act in only one way, any further helping of it to

• ' its end would be useless and impracticable, and it is
not to be supposed that nature has made provision
for the reception into our faculties of what would be
useless to them in the work of attaining their end.
Hence, such faculties do not admit of habits.

We have said also that operative habits are to be
found above all in the free powers of man. The free
/powers are either the human will itself or such powers
as can come under its influence. In both of these we
may have operative habits. Thus, operative habits
may be found in the imagination or the sensuous
appetites because these powers are undetermined, and
' they are to a large extentr^under the control of the will.
They are to be found ii^he motor powers particularly.
The fingers, for instance, may, through practice, tend
to assume a certain succession of positions in order to
the production of successive musical chords. This
tendency of the fingers is a habit, and good piano playing
will depend to a large extent on the perfection of such
habits, for through them come facility, and evenness,
and good tone in playing. But it should be remembered
that habits dwell rather in the faculties that move the

f organs than in the organs themselves, for it is only in
so far as the organs are under the influence of the motor
faculty that they can be affected by habits at all. Thus,
the habit of piano-playing dwells in the motor power or
faculty rather than in the material fingers themselves.

Can there be operative habits in the intellect ? At
first sight it would seem as if there could not, for the

j intellect is determined to a single object — namely,

c truth — and it can no more help assenting to a proposi-
tion which is seen to be true than the eye can help
seeing visible objects. It would seem, therefore, that
in the intellect there is no room for operative habits,
the function of which would, of course, be to aitl the

HABITS AND VIRTUE 595

intellect to assent — an aid which apparently the intel-
lect does not require. Yet in spite of this difficulty
we maintain that the intellect does admit of operative
/habits, for the subject of habits need not be free. It
is sufficient that it be by nature " in potentia ad plura "
/ — that is, not determined to one effect. But the intel-
lect is not determined to one effect. It can be deter-
mined in diverse ways and is capable of many different
acts. Thus, not all men are moved to think or assent
by the same influences, nor do all intellects reach the
same thought. Therefore, the intellect is capable of
receiving habits.

But not only is the intellect not determined by nature
to one effect, it is also in many of its acts even free, as
the Scholastics say, by participation. For to a large
extent the intellect is under the control of the will,
which can actually make a man assent to a proposition
in cases in which, on the mere objective evidence, the
intellect would withhold assent — i.e., we can force our- ,
selves to believe many things even though they be not
evidently true. Hence, the intellect is movable by a
free power and admits of habits.

Habits are either natural or acquired. In common
parlance we limit the term " habit " to acquired habit,
and often define it as "a faculty afforded by repeated
action." But some habits are natural, and even when
a habit is acquired some part of it is often natural.
This distinction is of some importance in regard to the
question of the merit attaching to certain habits.

\a) On Virtues and Vices in General

Virtues and vices are operative habits * because they
move the will directly to certain acts. They dwell only
in the higher powers of the soul, and when perfect they
dwell in free powers only — that is, in powers that are
either free in themselves or free as under the control of

• Virtue has been defined as " habitus operativus bonus."

596 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

the free will. An imperfect virtue may dwell in powers
that are not free in either of these two senses. Perfect
virtues are those that not only give a man the power of
acting well, but also actually impel him to act well, or
which not only give him the power of using his faculties
aright, but also incline him to use them aright. Thus,
perfect virtue, or virtue in the fullest sense of the term,
is defined — " quaedam qualitas mentis, qua recte vivitur,
qua nemo male utitur." An imperfect virtue is one
which " gives a man the power to act aright, but does
not incline him to act aright." As we said, a perfect
virtue always dwells in a free power — that is, a power
which is either free itself — ^namely, will — or a power
which is under the control of freedom, whereas the
imperfect virtues, although operative habits, may be
in a power over which free will has no control, or, at
all events, they can be in such a faculty irrespective of
any influence which it is in the power of the will to
exercise over it. In this latter sense imperfect virtues
are to be found in the speculative Reason — i.e., they
are there irrespective of its control by will.

These imperfect virtues dwelling in the speculative
Reason are three — namely. Wisdom, Science, and Intel-
lect. Wisdom is the knowledge of conclusions through
their highest principles or causes. Science is the know-
ledge of conclusions through their immediate causes.
Intellect * is the knowledge of the first or highest
])rinciples themselves. These virtues dwell in the specu-
lative intellect. They are operative habits because
they give us a power of doing ; but they do not impel
or incline us to do. Hence, they are not perfect virtues,
but imperfect. There is one other imperfect intellectual

• Intellect in this sense of a habit or a speculative virtue is to be
carefully distinguished from wiiat is usually called the faculty of
intellect, which is the same ground faculty as Reason or the ordinary
rational faculty.

The reader should not be surprised at our present broad use of
the word " virtue." It is only custom that has limited the word to
what arc known as the moral virtues, of which we are soon to speak,
Wc arc here following the stricter philosophical usage.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 597

virtue, and it dwells not in the speculative but in the
'practical intellect — namely, Art. Art, like the other
imperfect virtues, gives a man the power of doing the
good thing, but it never inclines him to do it. It enables
a man to produce the beautiful effect, but it does not
make him produce that effect, nor does it necessarily
incline him so to do. Thus, it differs from Prudence
and from the moral virtues of which we shall presently
speak, for these are all perfect virtues.

Now, whereas an imperfect virtue merely makes a
man capable of doing a good work, a perfect virtue
i actually makes a man good himself, since it inclines him
to the good work, and from this difference between the
imperfect and perfect virtue there arises a twofold
distinction between Art, on the one hand, and Prudence
and the Moral Virtues on the other — namely, (a) first,
that Art has nothing to do with a man's love of the
good work but only with the outer work itself, whereas
the primary effect of the other virtues is to set up in
a man a good attitude towards his work, to make him
love it (eVii/ o TTfrnTTUiv ttws fX"'*' TrpaxTr/ is the descrip-
tion given by Aristotle). Thus he is quite as much an
artist who hates sculpture as he who loves it, provided
both can make good statues. But to be truly temperate
one should love temperance. Again, (b) were an artist
knowingly and willingly to paint a faulty picture, it
is not his Art that is blamed for it but his bad will,
whereas, if his error is unconscious and unwilling, it is
his Art that is brought to task and criticised. In the
case of the moral virtues the opposite is true. He who
does wrong knowingly is without these virtues, whereas
he who does wrong unconsciously may possess these
virtues to a high degree.

Thus, Art is judged by the perfection of a man's work
alone, by what he produces, and not by his attitude
towards his work, and hence we define Art as the " recta
ratio factibilium." But Prudence, which, being a per-
fect virtue, concerns a man's attitude towards his work,

598 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

is defined as the " recta ratio agibilium " — a definition
which will be explained presently.

But just as there are imperfect virtues in the specu-
lative and practical Reason, so also there are perfect
virtues, but with this great difference, that whereas the
perfect virtues depend on the fact that intellect is under
the control of the free will, the imperfect virtues are
independent of this control. In the speculative intellect
we have the supernatural perfect virtue of Faith, which
is an assent of the intellect under motion of the will to
revealed truth. Faith depends to some extent on will,
for, to make an act of faith, the intellect has to be
moved by will to assent. Faith, then, is the perfect
virtue of the speculative intellect ; but in Ethics it
does not concern us, because Ethics deals only with the
natural virtues, whereas Faith is supernatural. The
only perfect virtue of Intellect considered in Ethics is
Prudence.*

(b) On Prudence

(i) Prudence we have already defined as the " recta
ratio agibilium," by which we mean a virtue of the
Practical Reason which not only enables a man to
know in concrete circumstances what means are best
to take to a good end, but also inclines a man to take
these means with promptitude and precision. Prudence
resides in the intellect, not in the will, for its acts are
intellectual acts. By Prudence we enquire about,
examine or judge, and direct ourselves to the adoption
of the proper means to an end desired, and since these
are all acts of the intellect. Prudence is a virtue of the
intellect — that is, of the practical intellect, since it
' appertains to action or ends. Its acts are three-fold,

• To aid the reader at this j)oint wc give the list of intellectual
virtues briefly thus : In the speculative intellect there are the three
imperfect virtue.s — Wisdom, Science, and Intellect—and one perfect
virtue — Faith — which, being supernatural, TUhics does not consider.
In the practical intellect there is one imperfect virtue — Art — and one
perfect virtue — Prudence. But none of these are moral virtue*-;
moral virtues dwell in the appetites only.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 599

as we said — enquiry, judgment, and command (consiliare,
judicare, praecipere) ; but its principal act is command
\ — that is, the moving of a man to take the means. He
who knows the proper means, but is not moved to take
them, or is slow and indifferent about them, is just as
imprudent as he who entertains a project but does not
know what means to take to its accomplishment. And
the means with which Prudence deals are not necessary
means but contingent means — that is. Prudence deals
with cases in which there is a plurality of ways of
gaining our end ((/jpovTjo-is, as Aristotle writes, . . .

irepl Tiuv dSwaroiv aAAws ex^'*')- From this it foUoWS

that only rational beings are prudent, since only rational
beings have a choice of means to ends.

From all these characteristics of Prudence we see that
it is a special virtue and distinct from all the other
virtues. It differs from the moral virtues or the virtues
of the will, because it resides in a distinct faculty —
namely, the practical Reason — and it differs from the
virtues of the speculative intellect, because its formal
\ object is different — the speculative virtues deal with
necessary laws. Prudence with contingent laws./^It-
differs also from Art, although Art resides in the same
power as Prudence, and, like Prudence, concerns what
is contingent ; for, as we have seen. Art deals with
products (factibilia). Prudence with operations * (agibilia).

It is important that we should determine how
Prudence stands related to the other virtues. We
said that Prudence appertains to the means by which
I we are to gain our end, and that he alone is prudent in
the fullest sense who not only knows the means that
lead to the final end, but is moved to take them. And
in this way Prudence is necessary for all the moral

* Of course, as controlled by mind. Art refers to the merest
externals. A dance is artistic and graceful as mere external move-
ment and whether the artistic effect was produced purposefully or not.
But Prudence refers principally to inner movement. We do not speak
of a man as prudent unless his act was purposefully directed to a good j
end. ' 1

6oo THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

virtues. For the moral virtues move to the final end,
and Prudence indicates the means to that end and moves
to their adoption. It is necessary to the other virtues
for another reason — namely, that without it the other
virtues cannot secure the mean of virtue. For we shall
' see later that every virtue consists in a mean between,
' extremes. But this mean, when translated into terms
of action, is found to consist in the proper use of the
things that lead to our end — " per rectam dispositionem
eorum quae sunt ad finem, medium invenitur." Now,
if the same things led always and in all circumstances
to the final end — i.e., if the mean of virtue were the
same for every man — then each virtue would of its own
nature assure the attainment of the mean of virtue,
.and in that way Prudence would not be necessary for
'attaining the mean. But the mean of virtue is not the
same in all circumstances, and hence the necessity of
the virtue of Prudence to indicate the right and proper
course in individual cases. Without Prudence, there-
fore, the moral virtues themselves could not keep the
mean ; for instance, without it fortitude would turn
to rashness, and temperance to insensibility ; for it is
not in the conception of his end that an over-temperate
man sins, since his end is to make sense subordinate to
Reason ; he sins in not using the right means to this
end — that is, he fails for want of Prudence. Prudence,
therefore, keeps a man right in the use of the means in
the case of each virtue, and so Prudence is a necessary
condition of every virtue. But if Prudence is necessary
to the other virtues so also the other virtues are neces-
sary to Prudence, because a man is not moved either
to enquire about or to adopt the right means to the end
unless he desires the end, and since the desire of good
ends is effected by the moral virtues, so without the
moral virtues a man cannot rightly be called prudent.
However, this law of connection between Prudence and
the other virtues holds, properly speaking, only for the
ordinary moral virtues— that is, those which are required

HABITS AND VIRTUE 6oi

in ordinary circumstances ; so that a man could be
prudent whilst yet he is not actually possessed of such
high virtues as those of magnificence and magnanimity.
Nevertheless, a truly virtuous man will be found to be
generally possessed of these virtues to some extent,
or at least of such virtues as would on a little cultivation
easily rise to the level of magnificence and magnanimity
did the proper occasion present itself.

Modern philosophy has done much to bring the virtue
of Prudence into contempt by representing it as ex-
clusively a selfish virtue — a virtue by which each man
seeks to secure his own greatest happiness. But Pru-
dence no more exclusively concerns the individual
happiness than do the other virtues. For, there is a
Prudence that prescribes the right means to the family
good or general good, as well as that which secures one's
own personal good. In other words. Prudence may be
economic and political as well as " monastic " (in the
Scholastic sense meaning " individual "). However,
when used wdthout quahfication, the word " Prudence "
(" Prudence " simply) has always been understood as
appertaining to the individual good only.

We have said that he only is prudent in the full
\ sense who seeks the means that will lead him to his
final end. The man who indulges in evil courses may,
indeed, be astute (8civot?j? Aristotle calls it) in the
discerning of means, and such astuteness is sometimes
called Prudence. But such a habit of mind is really
only the semblance of Prudence since it does not con-
cern our final end, or rather since, while leading to the
attainment of lesser ends it often leads to the total
loss of our principal and final end. But there is an
astuteness which has something in it of Prudence, but
yet in so far as it is identified with Prudence is Prudence
of an incomplete kind only. This lesser kind of Prudence
is twofold— first, there is the Prudence that helps to the
possession of the proper means but does not move us to
their adoption ; secondly, there is the Prudence that

6o2 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

moves to the adoption of the means to ends which,
though good in themselves, are yet not sought as leading
to the final end. Thus, there are prudent business men,
prudent navigators, prudent soldiers, all of whom may
seek good ends without conscious reference to the final
end. The prudent man (simply) is, as Aristotle says
(Nich. Eth. VI., 9, 7), he who in all things seeks the
right means to his last end.

(2) The parts of Prudence.

The parts of a virtue are three-fold — integral parts,
subjective parts, and potential parts.

Integral parts are those qualities of mind that concur
to make up the complete virtue, in the same sense that
the parts concur to make up a house. Subjective parts
are the various subordinate species of a virtue or the
kinds of virtue into which a certain virtue can be dis-
tinguished, in the sense that houses are distinguished
into stone and wooden houses, round and square.
Potential parts are certain annexed virtues which con-
cern certain secondary objects that have not the same
importance nor are so difficult of attainment as the
object of the principal virtue. The integral parts of
Prudence are enumerated by Aquinas, following
Aristotle. The requirements of Prudence, in so far
as it is a cognitive virtue — that is, in so far as it merely
indicates the right means — are five — namely, memory,
Reason, intellect, Md^cUity (or the power of acquiring a |
knowledge of the right means from others),' and con-
jecture (solertia, or the power of rapid personal percep-
tion of the right means). Again, the requirements of
Prudence, in so far as it is preceptive, or moves to the
adoption of the means, are three — providence, or the"
adoption of the essential means ; circumspection, wliicli
considers the circumstances ; caution, which guards
against impediment and opposition.

The SUBJECTIVE parts of Prudence, or its main divi-
sions, will correspond with the principal classes of

HABITS AND VIRTUE 603

those whose good it seeks. As we have already pointed
out, these principal kinds are prudence simply (which
concerns the individual good), economic prudence, and
political prudence.

The potential parts of Prudence, or its annexed
virtues, are three. They have reference to certain
subordinate acts belonging to Prudence. The principal
act of Prudence is, as we saw, that act of command
which moves us to the adoption of the proper means.
But this act is itself preceded by two other subordinate
acts — namely, counsel, or the setting about the enquiry
as to what means will lead us to our end, and judgment
or the weighing of these means — that is, the formation
of sound practical judgments on the means. This
can be done either by reasoning from practical principles
or by following our own good sense when, on account
of the peculiarity of the case, there are no commonly
admitted principles to go by. These three acts imply
the three annexed virtues, to which philosophers have
given the names Eubulia, Synesis, and Gnome.

EuBULiA moves a man to the enquiry what means
will lead to the end. Now, once moved to this enquiry,
some men are capable of a good practical judgment in
ordinary cases in which there are commonly admitted
principles to go by, which is the virtue of SYxNESIS.
But men who are capable of a good judgment in ordinary
cases would be wholly at sea in dealing with out-of-
the-way or uncommon cases to which the general
principles of prudent action do not appl}^ and the
prudence which comes into play in such cases is of a
much higher order than that of Synesis, for it judges
by higher principles and it involves a certain " per-
spicacity of judgment " (perspicacitas judicii) which in
ordinary cases is not required. To this virtue which
guides a man in abnormal circumstances is given the
name of Gnome. All these are annexed virtues or
potential parts of the intellectual virtue of Prudence.
We now go on to speak of the Moral virtues.

6o4 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Like Prudence, the moral virtues are perfect virtues,
but unlike Prudence they dwell not in the intellect but
in the appetitive faculty of the will. Being perfect
virtues, the Moral virtues are essentially conative habits
— that is, their function is to incline one to the attain-
ment of ends.

Prudence, therefore, having nothing to do with ends
as such, but only with the proper use of means, is not,
rightly speaking, a moral virtue, but it is moral by
participation, in so far, namely, as it is a necessary
element in every virtue, for, as already explained,
without Prudence there can be no moral virtue. We
saw that the reverse of this proposition is also true —
without' the moral virtues no man is prudent. A man
may be astute in taking the proper means to certain
ends, but if such ends lead him away from his final end,
the so-called prudent man is the least prudent of all.
. Better the foolish man who, through very foolishness,
may miss his way and fail to realise his evil purposes,
^'^and so may be by chance brought to a right life, than
the so-called prudent man who, if once he sets his mind
on evil, is certain to achieve it. Again, Prudence cannot
of itself control the passions. The control of the passions
^ is the work of the moral virtues. But passion uncon-
trolled makes Prudence impossible, since passion tends
to blind the intellect and Prudence is a virtue of the
intellect. Consequently, without the moral virtues we
cannot be prudent, just as without Prudence there can
be no moral virtue.

(2) The Moral virtues compared with knowledge and
passion.

Since the moral virtues reside in the will it follows

that they are essentially inclinations of the will to some

I end. Tlu'y are, tlicrcft)re, quite distinct from know-

HABITS AND VIRTUE 605

ledge or mere intellectual ideas. They cannot be ac-
quired by teaching or by mere study, but only by
practice or direct infusion from a higher Power. Some
ancients taught that virtue could be acquired by teach-
ing, the reason of their doctrine being that they
identified all virtue with knowledge. But all virtue
is not knowledge, and the wise man is not the only
virtuous man. The moral virtues presuppose know-
ledge, but they are essentially habits of the appetite.*

Now, as the moral virtues residing in the will are
necessarily distinct from the intellectual, so also they
are distinct from the passions, since the passions reside
in the sensitive appetite. Moral virtues also, indeed, -i
reside in the sensitive appetite, but only in so far as '^'^
the sensitive appetite comes under the control of the
will. But the passions reside in the " sensitive " as
such — that is, as independent of the will. A man
driven on by furious passion is passionate in so far as
he is a creature of sense. He is temperate in so far as
these same passions are made subject to reason and the
will. Between the moral virtues and Passion there is
also this difference, that passion is morally quite in-
different— that is, may be turned to good or evil use —
but virtue is always good in itself, and can never be
for evil purposes — " qua nemo male utitur."

(3) The objects of the moral virtues.

Some of the moral virtues are intended directly to
control the internal passions, others to regulate our

♦ The Socratic theory that all virtue is knowledge, and is, therefore,
teachable, and that all vice is due to ignorance, is to be found in the
writings of a good many modern philosophers. Thus, Fichte writes —
" If we had a clear idea of duty we should do it, for to clearly conceive f^
is to require of myself to do." To which we answer — " Clearly to
conceive " is to " require of myself to do " in the sense of " seeing that
that I should do," which is not the same as " inclining to the doing of
duty." Only the moral virtues incline us to do what we clearly con-
ceive to be our duty. Fichte's argument is meant primarily to show
that evil action is due to ignorance. But we have seen that though
evil action does presuppose a certain blinding of the intellect to the
evil of the action, still this *!amo blinding is voluntary and conscious,
and it does not really make \.s ignorant of what we do (See page 225).

6o6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

external acts. For moral goodness sometimes con-
sists in a relation between the agent and his act, and
sometimes in the external act itself. In the former
case the end of virtue is the controlling of the passions,
in the latter the regulating of the external act. Thus,
temperance controls the inner passions and only in-
directly concerns the outer action. The man who,
thinking he is drinking water, really drinks spirits, and
consequently gets drunk, has committed no offence
against the virtue of Temperance. Temperance, then,
has to do with a man's relations to his acts — i.e., with
his internal feelings and passions. It is the same with
Fortitude. But Justice regulates our external acts
directly,* and only indirectly concerns the inner pas-
sions. For in acts of justice there is always the " ratio
debiti ad alterum," and that can only have reference
to our external acts.

(4) The mean of the moral virtues.

The end ..of virtue is to perfect .the^wiU- But the will
is perfected by conformity with the law of right action.
Hence, law is the measure of virtue. Now, we can
violate a law in either of two ways — either by excess
or defect, either by exceeding in the doing of that
which the law ordains or by failing to come up to its
requirements. Thus, the law which binds us to eat
in order that the body may be maintained can be
violated either by eating too much or too little. Be-
tween the two extremes of defect and excess lies the
mean of the moral virtues.

Now, the proper measure of the mean of virtue is
human Reason, for the natural law dwells in our
Reason, t But Reason does not prescribe the same
course of conduct for every variety of circumstance
and character, but varies in its requirements according
to individual opportunities, character, and circum-

• Sec page O29,
t Sec page 633.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 607

stances ; and, therefore, the mean of the moral virtue
also varies with the individual circumstances. This is
expressed by Aquinas saying that the mean of the moral
virtues is determined in relation to ourselves, and that it
is a mean of Reason, not of objects — medium rationis,
not rei.

In the case of one virtue, however, it happens that
the medium rationis coincides with the tnedium ret —
namely, the virtue of Justice. For Justice appertains
to action not to passions ; whereas it is in relation to
our passions and other subjective needs that the re-
quirements of individuals differ from one another. The
mean, therefore, of the virtue of Justice is the medium
rei, which is the same for all men. But in the case of
the other moral virtues the mean is a mean of Reason
not of objects, Medium rationis not rei, and thus the
law of the other virtues is not the same for one man as
for another. What would be a sin in one man might
be a morally good act in another. Temperance and
fortitude, for instance, will always make allowance for
needs and character. But the law of justice (in the
case, for instance, of bargaining) is that we pay the price
of what we buy — without distinction of persons, feelings,
or character.

Aquinas remarks that besides the moral virtues the
intellectual virtues also are a mean.* Now, the intel-
lectual virtues, like the moral, are ordained to " good."
But the good which is attained by the intellectual
virtue is truth, according to which the mind afhrms
that a thing is which is, or is not which is not. Hence,
the mean in the case of the intellectual virtues is their
conformity to reality — excess in the case of intellectual
virtues being false affirmation, and defect false negation.
But in respect of this mean of truth and its relations to
the virtue of which it is a mean there is a difference
between the virtues of the speculative and practical

* The word " mean," it seems to us, is used in reference to the
intcllc:ctual virtues in u translerred sense onJy.

6o8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

intellects. For the truth of the speculative intellect is
truth absolutely. But the truth of the practical intel-
lect is truth in regard to right appetite, it being the
proper function of the practical Reason to tell what is
required for the satisfaction of appetite. Hence, whilst
in regard to objects or reality both kinds of virtues —
those of the speculative intellect and those of the
practical — are measured by reality, since both must
conform to truth, the virtues of the practical intellect
are also themselves a measure and a rule. They are
the measure and rule of appetites and of their proper
satisfaction.*

From what we have said on the mean of Reason we
shall be able to understand Aristotle's definition of
virtue. It is " the habit of fixing the choice in the
golden mean in relation to ourselves defined by Reason
as a prudent man would define it."

. Now, as we said, the mean of a virtue is a mean
I which is based on the law of Reason, and, therefore, it
is founded not on the exigencies of any particular
moment or of any mere part of man ; it is a mean in
I reference to our whole life and to the whole man ; for
the law of Reason takes account of the whole life and
the whole man. Thus, the mean of liberality is cal-
culated not on the ground of our present possessions
merely, but with a view to our future needs. So also
the mean in eating and drinking is not the mean which
will suit our bodily welfare only, but the mean that
suits our bodily and mental welfare. He who by
drinking alcohol incapacitates himself for thinking is
quite as intemperate as he who drinks in such a way as
to impair his bodily strength. Hence, the golden mean
of virtue is never the golden mean of one faculty only,
but the golden mean in the whole man and of our
whole life. Consequently, since in an organism " much
must be left in potentia," it being neither necessary
nor good that every part of the organism be worked
• See Vol. II., page Co.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 609

to the fullest extent, it follows that the golden mean
of virtue does not necessarily imply the use of all our
faculties, but only such use of our faculties as is neces-
sary for human perfection. Thus, there is no law im-
pelling each man to study mathematics or to prosecute
music, or to exercise his muscles, or to continue the
race (except there is danger of its disappe'arance).
Special reasons apart, any man is free to refrain from
the use of any one of his faculties, provided he uses
his energies sufficiently in other ways (it is manifest uv
that we must use our energies in some way, for every ||[f——-
man is bound to put his life to some good account). I(/'
Nay, if for any worthy reasons a man abstains from the
exercise of a particular faculty, this abstention may be
itself an act of virtue. Thus, some people abstain from
drinking wines that thereby they may have more money
for their children. Some spend their lives in study and
despise all material enjoyments in order that they may
promote the ends of science. Some remain unmarried
that they may be able to serve the State in some very
special capacity which the duty of father or husband
might render difhcult, others that they may give them-
selves up to the service of the poor and be free to
answer their " come hither " and " go thither " — a
freedom which to a married man would be impossible ;
<loT the father belongs to his wife and children ; and
they, and not the poor, have the first claim upon his
^time and attention. Hence, the unmarried state is
quite in accordance with the mean of virtue. And
consequently, though family ties are sacred ties, and
though the duties of family life must be undertaken
by a sufficient number to secure the continuance and
welfare of the race, still there will be always need for
the larger philanthropy of those who wish to abstain
from marriage in order to be in a position to undertake
those great and self-sacrificing works which only the
free and unfettered man can undertake. Again, we
repeat, though virtue consists in a mean, this mean is
Vol. 1—39

lisy

6io THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to be judged in reference to our whole life and to the
whole organism. It does not imply the exercise of every
power in the organism, much less does it imply the
exercise of all the powers at each moment.*

(5) Enumeration of the Moral virtues. \

In enumerating the moral virtues it is important that
we should select a proper basis of division in order,
first, to avoid overlapping and consequent repetitions
and omissions ; and, secondly, in order that our
enumeration may be sensible and serviceable, as an
enumeration of the moral virtues ought to be.

The following is Aquinas' deduction of Aristotle's list of
moral virtues. The moral virtues are of two kinds — those,
namely, which have to do with our actions and those that
deal with the passions. Only one virtue refers primarily
to actions, viz., Justice, and so we may proceed immediately
to the enumerating of the others. Some may think that
an easy method of enumerating the virtues that deal with
the passions would be that of enumerating the passions
themselves. But this method would not give us a true result,
because the number of the passions could not possibly be
the same as the number of virtues that deal with the passions.
For the passions dwell in the sensuous appetite, whilst the
virtues dwell in the rational appetite. It is quite impossible,
therefore, that each passion should correspond to a single
virtue. The passions are divided " according to their object,
in relation, however, to the sensitive appetite," whilst the
virtues are divided " according to their object, but in relation
to Reason." And so it is quite possible that there should
be many virtues controlling a single passion and many
passions controlled by a single virtue. For instance, the
single virtue of temperance controls the passion for drink,
the sexual, and several other passions ; whilst several
virtues control the single passion of delight or of hatred.
The proper basis of enumeration, therefore, cannot be the

• See Vol II. p. 391, note.

t The reader should, before beginning this list of the virtues, be
careful to understand the distinction on which so much turns in the
present enquiry, between the irascflile and concupiscible sensuous
apjHJtitc. The second appetite tcntls to the enjoyment of any sensuous
end. The first tends to the overcoming of the dillicullies incident to
any end.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 6ii

enumeration of the passions themselves. But we have
already indicated the proper ground of division — namely,
the objects of the passions in relation to Reason.

The general object of the passions is the " good " of some
sort ; but the " good " can be apprehended either by (I.) the
bodily senses or by (II.) our interior powers of perception,
(I,) Now, the only bodily sense that has a special passion of
its own, is the sense of touch.* There is no passion of
seeing, or hearing, or smelling, or tasting, since these
faculties never tend to get out of the control of Reason.
But the passion of touch requires two separate virtues for
its control, one to restrain it from going too far, one to em-
bolden it to go far enough. These virtues are — Temperance
and Fortitude. These two virtues have to do with outer
pleasures and pains f— temperance with the pleasures of
eating, drinking, etc., fortitude with the pains of the body,
and death. All such pleasures and pains are pleasures and
pains of touch. We now come (II.) to goods which are
perceived by our inner powers alone. These are called goods
of the inner man, because no outer sense can perceive them.
No outer sense, e.g., can enjoy honour or riches as such.
These things we enjoy inwardly alone. Now, the goods of
the inner man are thus enumerated. They are either (a),
such as will perfect a man in himself personally or {0) perfect
him in relation to his surroundings. The first of these two
divisions yields us four distinct virtues, the second also four,
(a) Either the perfection that is personal to me is a good of
the body like riches, or a good of the soul like honour. If of
the body, then two virtues are necessary to its proper use —
first, liberality in the giving of what I have, even though it
be small, and magnificence in giving out according to the
measure of Reason large sums of money which naturally I
shrink from parting with. The first dwells in the con-
cupiscible appetite, which tends to hold what it has ; the
second in the irascible, for we tend to shrink from anything
really great, J the " great " being always apprehended as a

* The word " touch " is here used in its broadest signification.

t The virtue that enables us to face opposition and contempt of
friends is sometimes called fortitude. It really is not fortitude but
magnanimity.

X It is evident from observation that the virtue of liberality
is quite different from that of maf^'nificence. Many rich men are
liberal without being magnificent. The two classes differ not merely
in degree but in their very actuating ideas. Magnificence, however,
is not to be confounded with profligate liberality, for even magiuficence
should be according to Reason,

6i2 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

difficulty. On the other hand, the good that perfects a
man in himself may be a good of the soul, like honour. Now
just as in the case of goods of the bod\', so also in the case
of honour,* two virtues are required, one which makes a
man seek all the honour he deserves, but in ordinary matters
(which virtue is without a name ; let us call it by the name
of the extreme to which it is most allied, viz. philotomia f ) :
the other magnanimity by which we claim deserved honour but
on a large scale. This completes the list of virtues under the
heading " personal good." Then (^) there is the social
good. The good that appertains to my social nature — i.e.,
the good which manifests itself in my dealings with other
men — is either such as is yielded with a serious purpose or
it is such as belongs to the lighter amenities of life, in the
way of plays, jokes, music, and convivialities of all sorts.
To the second belongs the particular virtue called Eutrapcleia,
by which a man is enabled so to act in his dealings with others
as to make lighter the burden of life for other men, and, at
the same time, not pander to man's baser nature. The first,
or the serious social good, yields three virtues according as
t we will to do others a positive good (which is friendship) or
to make things pleasant for them in their dealings with us
{affability or meekness), or merely to express our thoughts to
them in a due manner {truth). X These eleven form Aristotle's
well known table of the moral virtues — " Justice, temperance,
fortitude, liberality, magnificence, magnanimity, philotomia,
meekness or affability, friendship, truth, and pleasantry."

The other virtues — prudence, wisdom, etc. — are intellectual
virtues, not moral. Of some of these moral virtues we shall
have to say a good deal presently. But we must now say
one word on the last of these moral virtues, which of the
whole eleven is, perhaps, the least understood.

EuTRAPELEiA § or " pleasantry " is that virtue which

[enables a man by means of his own manner, conversation,

iietc., to make lighter the burden of life for self and for others,

I without in any way pandering to man's baser nature. This

virtue principally regards the happiness of others. It comes

of two joint sources — lightness of heart and benevolence.

• It should be remembered that honour in the Aristotelian
sense is not the same as inner honesty or truthfulness, but rather the
honour that others pay us. It is quite external.

t It is ambition in the domain of honour, but short of great honour.

I Truth especially in regard to ourselves or sincerity with ourselves.
It is opposed to boastfulne.ss and undue self -depreciation. The truthful
man is always himself (ai'OiK&crros t«s).

§ The word is sumctimus translated playfulness, sometimes wit.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 613

All good is diffusive of itself, and Eutrapeleia is a special
kind of goodness which inclines us to make other people
happy, not by the giving of gift^, but by a communicating
of our own personal happiness to them in pleasant conversa-
tion and amusements. For we cheer others by expressing
our own cheer provided we choose the right time, place, and
circumstances. But Eutrapeleia, like other virtues, is a
mean between extremes. Its act, pleasantry — the pleasantry
of good cheer — is a mean between the buffoonery of the loud
and vulgar man and the ill-humour of the sour man. It is
just as far apart from indecency as it is from prudishness ;
for though its end is to make things pleasant, it must be
always under the control of Reason, and always takes account
of circumstances, persons, and times. Speaking positively,
it is the easy pleasantry of the man who wishes to see the
whole world gay, but recognises at the same time that gaiety
is only one side of our life, and that it can tire as well as
exhilarate. The over-jocular man is second only to the
sour man, for the over-jocular man bores by his buffoonery,
whilst sour people, to use Aristotle's severe description,
" are for all pleasant intercourse wholly unfit, inasmuch as,
contributing nothing jocose of their own, they are savage
with all who do." Between buffoonery and sourness stands
the virtue of Eutrapeleia or pleasantry.

(d) The Cardinal Virtues ♦

(i) The traditional enumeration of the cardinal virtues
has come down to us from Plato. They are prudence,
justice, fortitude, and temperance. They are called
cardinal because (i) they are the principal virtues or
heads of virtues, (2) because to a certain extent there
can be no single virtu(i without them. So fundamental
are they that some philosophers have considered these
four not as distinct virtues, but rather as general con-
ditions of soul produced by and necessary to all the
[I other particular virtues. Thus, they have regarded

* We see no good reason why we should depart from this time-
honoured enumeration. Whewell noticetj five Cardinal virtues — (i)
Benevolence, (2) Justice, (3) Truth, (4) Purity {i.e., the due subjection
of the passions and sentiments to one another), (5) Order, or love of
law. Socrates reduces all to wisdom ; the Egoists to prudence or self-
love ; others to the self-regarding virtues (temperance, prudence
courage) and the extra-regarding (benevolence and truth).

6i4 . THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Prudence not as a special virtue but as general discre-
tion, without which there can be no virtue, Justice as
general observance of duty, Temperance as general
moderation, and Fortitude as general strength and
endurance of soul. Now, if these four be only general
and not special virtues it is plain that though Prudence
must be distinct from the other three (since it dwells in
the intellect — they in the will), yet those other three
cannot be distinct from one another, but will be simply
parts of that single quality of the soul which we might
call its moral soundness. But inasmuch as we regard
these virtues as distinct from one another, we regard
them also as special virtues, and not merely as general
characteristics of the perfect soul.

(2) Enumeration of the cardinal virtues.

Virtue gives a man a readiness to act rationally, and
it resides in such powers as come under the control of
Reason. In this the virtues are different from the
passions, which have their seat in the sensuous appetite
quite irrespective of its control by Reason.

Now, in man there are four distinct rational powers
having reference to conduct — (i) The practical Reason
itself, (2) the rational will, (3) the concupiscible appetite,
(4) the irascible appetite. All four are rational. For
the first is Reason itself, and the other three come
under the control of Reason — they are rational by par-
ticipation. Now, corresponding to these four powers
we must have four distinct capital virtues. They are
prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude, the first
enabhng Reason to discover the acts that lead on to the
last end ; the second determining the will to seek the
good which is due to others ; the third restraining the
wanton rush of concupiscence after pleasure ; the fourth
encouraging a man to be bold when otherwise he would
figlit shy of difficulties.

It may be asked why do we dcinand t)iil)- one \Jrtue

HABITS AND VIRTUE 615

for will — namely, the virtue which perfects it in relation
to others. We answer because we do not need to be
inspired by virtue to seek our own good and pleasure,
but we do need virtue in order to be just to others.

This enumeration, it will be seen, is based upon the
consideration of the subjective powers in which the
several virtues reside. The same result is reached when
we take as ground the objects of the virtues instead of
the powers in which they reside. The one object of
the several virtues is the good of Reason — the good,
namely, which Reason secures to us in relation to action
or to conduct. Now, such good is either (i) the act of
Reason itself, and the virtue which directs the Reason
in reference to its own acts — that is, the virtue which
has as its object the acts of Reason is prudence — or
(2) the objects of the acts of Reason. These also are
objects of the virtues. But the objects of the acts of
Reason, so far as conduct is concerned, are either our
outward acts or our inner passions. For external action
we have the virtue of justice. For the inner passions
we must have two virtues, one to restrain passion from
hurrying us on to wish what Reason forbids — namely,
temperance — controlling the concupiscible appetite, and
one to keep the passion from unduly holding us back
when Reason impels us forward — namely. Fortitude —
directing the irascible. Temperance restrains our head-
long desires, fortitude conquers apprehensiveness and
over-timidity. This gives us the same four virtues that
we have already' deduced.

Whether these methods of deduction are persuasive
or not the reader may judge for himself, but it is
certain that they do bring out the importance of the
four virtues in question by emphasising their se\-eral
functions in relation to conduct. That these four
virtues have a special and a most important bearing on
human conduct no one, we think, will be disposed to
deny, and, therefore, it is necessary to say a word about
each of them in particular. On prudence we have

6i6 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

nothing to add to what we have written already in the
early portions of the chapter.

{e) On Temperance

(i) The virtue of temperance controls us in the pur-
suit of pleasures. Just as without desires and some
pleasure we could not live at all, so if pleasure and
desire get beyond the control of Reason our life ceases
to be a human life. Temperance moderates our desires
and our search for pleasure and inclines us to a life
according to Reason. In one sense temperance is a
property of every virtue, for every virtue consists in
the mean of Reason, which is the temperate pursuit of
ends. But there is also a special virtue of temperance
with a special subject-matter, the purpose of which is
to restrain us in the use of those pleasure that draw
our wiUs most strongly — namely, the pleasures of touch,
or what are known as organic pleasures. These pleasures
are such as appertain to preservation either of the
individual or of the race ; and from the nature and im-
portance of the end to which these pleasures are allied,
they are in the design of nature made difficult of re-
sistance, and hence the control of them requires to be
effected by a special virtue — that of temperance.

Ordinarily, we need no virtue to impel us to the
pursuit of pleasure. Our need is to restrain the desire
for too much delight, and hence the essential function
of temperance is to restrain this desire. The virtue of
temperance is itself a mean between insensibility to
pleasure on the one hand and gluttony and lust on the
other.

Gluttony and lust are evidently evil because they
mean excess in pleasure. But " insensibility " to
pleasure is also evil because nature herself has attached
delights to those acts that are necessary for human life,
and, therefore, the natural order requires that a man
should use these pleasures in so far as they are necessary

HABITS AND VIRTUE 617

to his own life or the Hfe of the race.* Now, a man can
only maintain his own life by. his own acts, and, there-
fore, every man should seek some of the pleasures at-
taching to the preservation of his own life. But the
life of the race does not require the co-operation of all
men but only of a certain number, and hence a man is
not bound, except under exceptional circumstances, to
seek those organic pleasures which attach to the main-
tenance of the race.

(2) The parts of temperance.

The parts of any virtue, as we have already pointed
out in the case of prudence, are three-fold — the integral
parts or those conditions of mind that constitute the
virtue, the subjective parts or its subordinate kinds, the
potential parts or those secondary virtues which secure
the same observance of law in the less important and
less difficult things which the principal virtue secures in
regard to its principal subject-matter.

The integral parts of temperance are shame [vere-
cundia), which inclines us to avoid the disgrace of intem-
perance ; and sense of propriety {honestas), which
induces a love of the beauty of temperance.

The subjective parts of temperance are abstinence,
chastity, and reserve [pudicentia] .

Of the potential parts, some regard the interior acts
of the mind — namely, continence, humility, meekness —
some affect the outwards act — for instance, modesty —
some affect not exterior acts but exterior goods — namely,
frugality and simplicity. Of these various parts of
temperance three require to be defined — namely,
humility, modesty, and meekness, (i) Humility means
the true estimate of our own worth, as, first of all,
having nothing of ourselves ; but, secondl}', as having
a great deal from God. Humilit\', therefore, is the

* The law or norm of temperance is thus constituted by the natural
ends of the faculties in question. See Vol. 11., page 59.

6i8 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

source and spring of true human dignity, for though
by it we are led to rate ourselves as nothing in one
respect, we are in another made conscious of the great
place we occupy in the Universe as men, and conscious
also that, having our own individual responsibilities,
we have also our own individual rights as against the
rest of the race. Humility puts no man in a false
position in the world, for the simple reason that humility
must above all things be true. It moves us to a low
opinion of ourselves in regard to what is from ourselves ;
and comparing what is in us of ourselves with what is
in other men from God, it bids us consider ourselves
lower than other men. But then, as Aquinas remarks,
" humility does not require that we regard that in
ourselves which is from God as lower than that which
seems to be of God in other men." Humility cuts no
man out from the race for life and the goods of life, but
it bids him know that what he wins there belongs to
Another as well as to himself. (2) Modesty is the
outward sign of inward temperance of mind and heart.
(3) Meekness is the temperate use of anger and of the
law of punishment. It inclines us to be dignified and
self-possessed under insult, not out of contempt or
pride, but because it is good for us to restrain our animal
nature, so that when moved to anger we may be able
to act prudently with others, and upbraid or punish
them according to Reason.*

(/) On Fortitude

(i) Fortitude is the virtue which braces the soul
courageously to face grave dangers, and particularly
our greatest earthly evil — death. Only he who faces
death boldly can be called brave absolutely, for, as

• How far the supernatural are beyond these natural virtues will
easily be seen in connection with these three virtues of Humility,
Modesty, and Meekness. The supernatural lifts them into a plane
that is altogether above unaided human Reason. It is the super-
natural that supplies us with our highest ideals of conduct as well as
with our saints and heroes.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 619

Aquinas says, the only effect which a virtue properly
regards is its highest effect " ad rationem virtutis per-
tinet ut respiciat ultimum."

But bravery in meeting death is not always the out-
come of the virtue of fortitude, for fortitude implies
that we go to meet death for the sake of forwarding
some good cause. Hence, it is not always fortitude
proper that sustains us in sickness, or in the stress of
storm, or when attacked by robbers. But it is fortitude
that leads a soldier to battle and that sustains the martyr
on the rack. However, every willing sacrifice that is
made for the sake of good falls somewhere within the
domain of fortitude.

The acts of fortitude are two-fold — sufferance [sus-
tinere) and aggression. And, since it is a more difficult
thing to repress fear than to restrain daring, therefore,
sufferance is the principal of the two acts of fortitude.
Sufferance is more difficult than aggression for other
reasons also. For in sufferance our enemy is regarded
as the stronger, in aggression we regard ourselves as
the stronger, and it is more difficult to defy strength
than weakness. In sufferance the evil has actually
come upon us or is imminent, in aggression the evil is
still in the future. Sufferance is ordinarily a prolonged
evil, aggression may consist in a single attack. Conse-
quently, sufferance is more difficult than aggression,
and is the principal act of fortitude.

Again, fortitude is all the greater the more sudden the
danger to be faced. Indeed, it is onl}' in the case of
sudden danger that we can be certain whether it is
fortitude that sustains us. For when danger arises on
a sudden it can only be the habitual virtue of fortitude
that actuates us, whereas even a coward, if he gets
time enough, can prepare his mind to face a grave
danger.

Some men think that only he is brave who delights
in danger and pain. But this is a mistaken notion. A
man may be actuated by fortitude and yet feel no

620 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

delight in his act. Such a man will, no doubt, ex-
perience delight in the thought of the cause he is pro-
moting ; but, on the other hand, he may inwardly
grieve or be sad at the loss he is himself willingly sus-
taining, and if this loss should be accompanied by bodil}^
pain this latter may even drive out of our consciousness
all delight arising from the thought of the cause for
which we are fighting. And if fortitude does not neces-
sarily exclude sadness so neither does it necessarily
exclude anger. On the contrary, a moderate anger
will promote the ends of fortitude, for anger helps ag-
gression. And through anger even sadness may be a
help to fortitude. For though of itself sadness tends to
diminish fortitude by increasing fear, sadness will also
excite a man to righteous anger, which is an aid to ag-
gi'ession. On another score, also, anger may be an aid
to fortitude, for anger makes life itself seem less worth
living for, and it is thereby calculated to increase
" daring."

(2) The parts of fortitude.

We repeat that the parts of a moral virtue can be
either subjective, integral, or potential parts. Now,
fortitude does not admit of subjective parts — i.e., of
different kinds of fortitude — in the braving of death.
But we may distinguish integral and potential parts of
fortitude — integral — that is, the elements that go to
make up fortitude — and potential or annexed virtues —
that is, those lesser virtues which play the same rdle
in regard to less difficult spheres of action that fortitude
proper plays as regards the most difficult of all acts — the
facing of death.

The acts of fortitude are, as we have said already,
aggression and sufferance. Now, aggression demands
two habits of mind. One a liabit that prepares the
mind for aggression — namely, confidence (fiducia) — tlic
other a habit that perfects the work of aggression once
begun — namely, magniliccnce or the virtue which enables

HABITS AND VIRTUE 621

us to fling away or risk goods of great price than which
none is greater than hfe itself. These are the two
integral parts of fortitude regarded as an aggression.
But these or similar which are integral parts of fortitude
in regard to the greatest of evils — death — are annexed
virtues or potential parts of it when they regard some
lesser evil. Thus magnificence can be a potential part
in so far as it appertains to the spending of money,
magnanimity in so far as fortitude enables us to despise
unmerited honour.

The second act of fortitude is siifjerancc, which has
two integral parts, one of which counteracts the effects
of sadness, which of itself would tend to lower our
courage. This is the virtue of patience. The other
sustains us in the long struggle against bodily mis-
fortune lest we become worn out and yield — namely,
perseverance. These same two virtues when they con-
cern the lesser evils are potential parts of fortitude.

Fortitude is a mean between cowardice and reckless-
ness ; yet the mean of fortitude may often even border
on recklessness, or, rather, what would be recklessness
in some circumstances would be fortitude- in others.
We may in Reason risk more the greater the good that
is being promoted.

[g) On Justice

(i) Plato defines Justice as the perfect harmony of
all the powers of the soul. As so defined Justice is
simply co-extensive with the " good." The Aristotelian,
and Scholastic conception of Justice is quite different
from this ; for, with these latter. Justice is a special
virtue with a special subject-matter distinct from that
of the other virtues. Aquinas defines Justice as " the
constant will to give to everyone his own." * It is,

* " Perpetua et constans voluntas jus suum unicuique tribuendi."
" Perpetua " is here meant to refer to the object of the voluntas rather
than to the voluntas itself — that is, it is the will permanently to rcndiir,
etc. " Voluntas " in this definition refers, as Aquinas explains, to the
act,, not to the faculty, of will.

622 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

therefore, a special virtue, and its special subject-matter
is our exterior acts in relation to other people. All
Justice is " ad alterum." Its end is to secure right
social relations between one person and another. It
obtains between equals as the word " Justice " itself
indicates, and hence it is only in a metaphorical sense
that we can speak of Justice as governing the relations
of a man with himself — that is, as governing the parts
of man in their relation to one another and to the whole
person.

Justice resides in the appetite, not in the knowing
faculties, for its end is not knowledge but action — ^the
just man is one who gives what is due, not one who
knows what is due. And the appetite in which it re-
sides is the will, not the sensuous appetite, for sense
does not apprehend the relation of moral equality be-
tween one person and another.

Though Justice is a special virtue, still there is a
sense in which it is a general virtue including every
virtue. For the individual man is a part of society,
and whatever redounds to his good benefits society
also indirectly, and, vice versa, any virtue that benefits
society benefits the parts of society or the individuals.
'So, every virtue, since it benefits someone, benefits
society of which that person is a part. Hence, " all
virtue is in Justice comprehended," and it is in this
sense that Aristotle defines Justice as " every virtue."
As directing the acts of all the virtues to the common
good, justice is a " general virtue," in which sense we
call it " legal justice." But besides this general virtue
of Justice there is a particular virtue of Justice which
directly and immediatel}' regulates the dealings of one
person with ancrther, and it is in this sense that we
speak of Justice in the present chapter.

Now, men are related to one another not by their
inner passions but by external actions and by objects,
and hence the subject-matter of Justice is not the same
as lliat of the other virtues — namely, the interior pas-

HABITS AND VIRTUE 623

sions — but outer acts and objects. These it regulates
according to the natural laws of society. And since
Justice concerns outer actions and objects, not our
inner passions, the mean of virtue which is secured in
the case of Justice has no dependence on inner passions.
It is a medium, not rationis, but rei. Thus, the mean of
Justice in the case of buying and selling is the price of
the object bought, and this is the same for every man,
no matter what may be his inner feelings. The mean
of the other moral virtues like Temperance and Forti-
tude is different for different persons.

(2) The parts of Justice.

As in the case of the other virtues, we must distinguish
between the subjective, the integral, and the potential
parts or annexed virtues of Justice also.

The stibjedive parts of justice.

The subjective parts of Justice, or its subordinate
species, are two — Commutative and Distributive Justice.
Commutative Justice regulates the dealings of one person
with another. Distributive Justice regulates the deal-
ings of society with the individual. Distributive Justice
is " exercised by the whole community through its head
to the members," its special function being to secure
proper distribution of those goods that are common by
nature amongst the various members of the State,
according to the merits of individuals and the require-
ments of the State. Distributive Justice secures fair
play and proper treatment for subjects, and also equality
so far as the requirements of State allow. It is the pre-
ventative against favouritism, one-sided laws, unequal
taxation, maladministration of funds, and those other
political evils to which a ruler may be inclined either
through personal likings and weaknesses, or skilful wire-
pulling, or through the dependence of a sovereign on
the good will of certain classes of his subjects.

624 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

The strict conception of Justice is realised only in the
case of Commutative Justice, for only in the case of
Commutative Justice is there a plurality of persons (the
relations of Distributive Justice being rather those of
whole to part than of one person to another), and only
in the case of Commutative Justice is there equality
between the parties. But Commutative Justice can
obtain between States as well as between individuals,
for States, like individuals, are many, and in their
capacity as perfect societies they are equal to, and
independent of, one another.

Commutative Justice is so called because it concerns
contracts or exchanges {commutationes) . These con-
tracts are either voluntary or involuntary. The ex-
pression " voluntary contract," need not be explained.
An involuntary contract takes place when one man
injures another, for by injuring another we take a good
from him, and this act binds us to restitution in the
same way that the bargaining in a voluntary contract
binds us to pay for what we have received.

The integral parts of Justice.

Since Justice concerns outer actions, not inner pas-
sions, the full law of justice is to pay what is owed.
Hence, we cannot, as in the case of the other virtues,
speak of the integral parts of Justice — that is, of those
dispositions that make up the perfect virtue. The one
integral constituent that makes up the perfect virtue is
the will to pay what is due. But we might consider
this will to pay what is due in two aspects, one negative
and the other positive — namely, the will to avoid injury
and to do good. These two dispositions we may speak
of, if not as integral, at least as quasi-integral, parts of
Justice.

. The potential parts of Justice.
The potential parts or annexed virtues of any par-
ticular virtue concern, as we said, certain matters that

HABITS AND VIRTUE 625

on the one hand have a certain agreement with the
principal virtue, and on the other hand fall short of
the principal virtue in some respect. Now, in respect
of the first condition, we may consider every virtue
that regards in any way our relations with other people
as appertaining to Justice. The second condition of
an annexed virtue, that it falls short of the principal,
can be realised in either of two ways in the case of
Justice — either by a want of equality between the
persons concerned in the transaction or because that
which is owed is owed not by a strict law but only from
friendship or liberality.

Now, under the first heading, which i= want of
equality, we find as annexed virtues to Justice those of
religion which regulates our relations to God, piety
which regulates a child's relations to its parents, respect
{observatU^JL^ which secures a due rendering of honour
to sup'fetK^s. Under the second heading, or the absence
of strict law, there are many annexed virtues, some of
which are close up to the principal virtue of Justice —
e.g., truth * — whilst others are only remotely connected
with it, like affability and friendship. But all these in
some way or another concern our duties, whether
perfect or imperfect, to other persons, and hence they
are parts of Justice. |

(3) Jiistice — a natural virtue.

When we say that justice is natural we do not mean
that it is implanted in a man's will by nature, but only
that the good which the virtue of justice secures is a
natural good — i.e., it is something which is good, not

* When we say that truth is not enforced by a strict law we speak
of truth as a part of Justice, as something that is owed to other men,
and the violation of which is an offence to other men. As so regarded
truth is not enjoined by strict law, for our duty to tell the truth is not,
properly speaking, a duty to other men. But if we regard lying as a
violation of the natural end of a faculty, then it is a violation of a
strict law of nature. For further consideration of this point see Vol. II.
page 74.

j I'or comparison of justice with charity see Vol. II. page 2.

VOL. I — 40

626 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

by convention, but by the law of nature, and its opposite
is naturally and intrinsically evil. Now, that there are
laws of nature binding men to certain actions for the
good of their fellowmcn we have already shown in our
chapter on The Good. So far as Justice depends on
these natural laws it is a natural virtue. Some rights of
Justice are, indeed, not natural since they depend on
positive law merely. And of those rights that are
natural some, whilst resting ultimately upon the natural
law, are yet to a certain extent determined by the State
or by reference to some empirical fact. But there are
some rights which depend immediately and solely on
the moral natural law itself and are independent of
every empirical consideration. There are, therefore,
rights which are, in the fullest sense of the word, rights
of nature, and so there must be a natural virtue of
justice for the maintenance of those rights. But for the
proof of this proposition we must refer our reader to
our chapter on Rights, in which we establish the
existence of natural rights.*

Hume's objections showing that rights of Justice are
not natural.

Hume's objections refer principally to rights of pro-
perty which many modern Ethicians regard as co-
extensive with rights of Justice generally. In these
objections he attempts to show that property, and the
laws of Justice to which it gives rise, obtain not neces-
sarily but only under certain contingencies, that conse-
quently they cannot be natural, and, therefore, that
Justice is not a natural virtue. These objections are :
(fl) If there were no lack of goods in nature there would
be no virtue of Justice. There is, for instance, no law
of Justice concerning the use of the air. (6) If men
were perfectly generous there would be no need of Justice.
Justice arises from selfishness, and the consequent

• Also to Vol. II, page 8i, where we establish the ground of com-
mutative Justice.

HABITS AND VIRTUE 627

danger that some men will not have a sufficiency of
goods, (c) In the case of famine there is no law of
Justice. In famine every man may take anything that
he can get. Now, these three conditions — an absolutely
unlimited supply of goods, unlimited generosity, and
complete famine, though not often to be met with, are
still possible conditions of things, and their opposites
are accordingly mere accidental conditions. And since
it is on these latter conditions that Justice and right
depend. Justice and rights cannot be natural.

Reply — In the first place, as we have already pointed
out, the rights here referred to are all rights of propert}-.
So that even if rights of property were not natural there
would still remain other rights that are natural — e.g.,
the right of a husband to his wife's fidelity, of an indi-
vidual to non-interference from others, of children to
training. Secondly, the right of property itself, we
admit, does not stand on quite the same level as certain
other natural rights : it depends more than other rights
on contingent conditions. Thirdly, Hume's arguments
do not avail to prove that the right of property is con-
ventional or not natural in some sense. For it is not
true that right would be extinguished in case of a
plentiful supply of goods, or of generosity, or in case
of famine, [a) Even if there were no lack of goods in
nature a man would still have a right to what he pro-
duces. Nor can it be said that it would be absurd to
claim a thing as one's own under such conditions — when,
namely, everybody had more than enough. We can
readily imagine a man wishing to have a thing simply
because he himself had made it, even though there was
in nature a superabundance of such things. So that
even if there was no lack of goods, men could still
possess and would probably insist on rights of pro-
perty. However, is not Hume's supposition absurd ?
The supply of goods in a limited world must be always
limited. The most one could expect to find in this
-world is not unlimited riches but very great riches.

628 THE SCIExNXE OF ETHICS

And rights of property would still hold even though
the world were well supplied with the goods of life.
His claim that men have not a right to a certain por-
tion of air is also untenable. Every man has a right
to as much air as is necessary for life. School managers
and inspectors insist on such a right, {b) Even if men
were perfectly generous each would have a right to the
products of his own labour. And even though all were
generous we should probably still insist upon our rights.
Men do not always care to depend on the generosity of
others, (c) Even in the case of famine each man would
have a right to certain things. One starving man
would, for instance, have a right to keep the loaf that
he had in his possession, and another would have no
right to take it violently from him. A starving man
has a right to his life, for ancfther may not kill him in
order to obtain food. In the case of famine, therefore,
man still has rights.

But even though we could not show that in these
abnormal conditions contemplated by Hume men still
had rights, we should nevertheless contend that such
cases do not disprove the existence of a natural right of
property under normal conditions. All natural right
obtains under natural conditions ; but some of Hume's
conditions — that of an infinity of goods and that of a
universal famine — are not natural conditions. And just
as we should not judge that there was no natural method
of walking, since if all legs were paralysed men could not
move, so neither should we claim that certain natural
rights do not exist because of the difficulty or impossi-
bility of exercising them under very abnormal con-
ditions.

(4) Justice an objective virtue.

Justice, as we have seen, has to do with outer opera-
tions, not with internal passions. It is common know-
ledge that if a man makes a contract, he is bound to
fulfil it from his side, provided also it is fullilled from

HABITS AND VIRTUE 629

the other, and that until the contract is fulfilled and, in
the case of pecuniary contracts, payments made, the
law of justice remains unsatisfied, no matter what may
be the defaulter's intentions or what the cause of his
defalcation. So also if I pay a man what I owe him,
but pay him by mistake, thinking I am paying some-
body else, the law of justice requires no more of me.
It is fully satisfied by the outer act. The end of, justice
Js the outer fulfilling of justice, and it lias nothing to do
with inner states of mind, desires, passions, knowledge
or affections of giver or receiver. In this sense justice
is an objective virtue. Its principle is the objective
principle of equality — not in the sense that each man's
possessions must be equal to every other man's, but
that each man must be left in possession of what he
owns. If that equilibrium is once disturbed the law of
justice requires that it be restored again. Justice has
reference, therefore, to an objective relation only — that
is, it binds a man to the doing of a certain outward act,
not to the doing of that act from any particular affection,
or intention, or passion. As independent of passion it
has been called the frigid or the mathematical virtue.

Having, therefore, no reference to passion or to any-
thing subjective, it is useless to seek to ground this
virtue upon any internal affection. It is, like mathe-
matics, a law of things, and it is grounded on the nature
of things themselves.* In this connection the reader
will find it interesting to criticise for himself some of
the ordinary subjective theories of the principle of
Justice — for instance, the two theories which ground
Justice respectively upon the feelings of (i) sympathy,
(2) gratitude — the first of which theories is taught by
Hume, the second by Sidgwick.f

* See ground of justice, Vol. II. page 8i.

t Spencer bases the sentiment of Justice on the love of personal
.rcedom, which, under the influence of certain subjective laws, becomes
transformed into an altruistic feeling. Mill bases it on the animal
feeling of resentment, which when purified becomes the desire for
punishment.

630 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

THEORIES OF A SUBJECTIVE GROUND OF JUSTICE

(a) Hume's theory.

Hume postulates two grounds for the sentiment of
Justice — Sympathy and Utihty. But S3'mpathy is the
chief element, and to that, according to him, the virtue
ultimately reduces — that is, I pay a man what I owe
him because I sympathise with him, or rather I feel
that I am bound to pay him, because of sympathy.

Criticism of Hume's theory — If sympathy be the
spring of justice it is strange that the two conceptions,
justice and sympathy, have become so completely
divorced with time. Of course, it may be said that
association can first bind things together which after-
wards become independent, and that even though
formerly the conception of justice arose out of that of
sympathy it is' not to be wondered at if it has now
become independent of that conception. But surely in
matters of this kind, where we are dealing with concep-
tions that are known to everyone, we are not free to
suggest that two conceptions were once causally con-
nected— ^that is, that one arose out of the other — when
as a matter of fact we have no empirical evidence of
their having ever been connected, and when, in addition,
they are now distinct conceptions, and independent,
and even often opposed. Thus, I pay a man because
I know I am bound to pay him, not because I love him
or sympathise with him, and I claim payment from him
because he is bound to pay me, and for no other reason.
I may hate him, as I have already said, I may have no
sympathy with him, yet I am certain with an unmis-
takable certitude that I must pay him what I owe.
In justice, then, as such there is no element of sympathy.

{b) Sidgwick's theory.

Sidgwick admits that the prominent clement in justice
is equality, but yet he insists that the principle of

HABITS AND VIRTUE 631

justice is not equality but gratitude. The principle of
gratitude is, he says, that " the good done to an indi-
vidual ought to be requited by him," from which he
concludes that " men ought to be rewarded in propor-
tion to their deserts." Thus, to say a man has a right
to the produce of his labour is only another wa}' of
saying that he has a right to be rewarded out of grati-
tude for services rendered. In this way Sidgwick
claims to be able to explain what he regards as the
otherwise inexplicable right of first occupation ; for on
no other title, he tells us, ma}^ a man appropriate what
he finds and has not previously owned than the title of
the boon conferred upon the community by his dis-
covery. Punishment, the reverse of reward, being
essentially grounded on the principle of an eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth, is, he claims, based upon
the negative of the conception of gratitude — that is,
upon the feeling of resentment.

Criticism — Now, this argument will easily be seen to
be erroneous if we consider how essentially opposed are
the two virtues before us. For (a) gratitude always
supposes the returning of a good which yet need not be
returned — a return for which there was no stipulation,
a return which is perfectly free and spontaneous.
(&) Gratitude presupposes that the good done in the
first instance, and for which a return is now being
made, was free and spontaneous, and unstipulated for.
(c) Gratitude has regard to passion, to subjective
feeling, to affection. I am satisfied with a man's grati-
tude when I know that he thinks well of me, that he
remembers what I have done for him. Even if he
makes a return, what he gives is given only as a token
of remembrance. Consequently it need not be on a
par with the good originally done, {d) Both gratitude
and sympathy prompt us to reward a man for ser\-ices
attempted but not succeeded in. [e) Finally, gratitude
is an altruistic feeling. Now, justice differs in all these
points fropi gratitude. («) Justice moves a man to £^

632 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

return of goods because this return has been stipulated
for, and because, therefore, these goods belong to the
other party to the contract, [b) It supposes that those
things which were originally given, and for which a
return is being made, were given as a result of contract
and not in friendship merely. It is stern obligation
from beginning to end. (c) Justice cares nothing about
inner passion or intention. It simply requires that a
certain payment be made, whether out of gratitude or
hatred, from selfish or altruistic motives, it does not
matter. " Frigidum illud verbum, meum ac tuum "
describes it admirably, for a debt of justice is discharged
because it has to be discharged, and because there is
no way out of it. " Small tokens of remembrance " can
never be equivalents of justice, which is satisfied only
with payment of the last penny, {d) Justice, as a rule,
cares nothing about good which is merely willed or
attempted. If we might put it so. Justice demands pay-
ment only for goods delivered at our doors, [e] Justice
is neither an altruistic nor an egoistic feeling. If it
requires that I be just to others, it requires also that
others be just to me. It represents a mere equation
bet\\'een man and man.

Justice, therefore, cannot be based on gratitude.

CHAPTER XIX
ON LAW

{a) General Conception of Law

(i) Our first business in framing a right conception of
law is to show that Law is a function of Reason. Law
is defined by various writers to be a " rule of action"
a " rule of direction," a " settled principle of action," a
" measure of action," a principle following which we are
led to pursue certain lines of conduct and to avoid
others. This element of " guidance " or of " rule " is
the fundamental element in our conception of law. The
word " law " is applied principally and essentially to
rules of human action,* but we use it in a transferred
sense in regard to other things, always, however, with
the same meaning of a rule of action or of movement of
some sort. Thus, we speak of chemical laws, meaning
thereby the principles according to which elementary
substances enter into chemical combinations with one
another ; of the laws of plants — that is, the laws which
guide the movementys and growths of plants ; of the
laws of animals — that is, the principles, instincts, etc.,
which guide the acts of animals. In all these cases
law directs action or movement.

^ Now, in the case of man, as also in the case of other
living things, a rule of action means alwa3S a principle
according to which proper means are taken to the attain-
ment of some end ; and since Reason f alone is com-

* A " lawyer," absolutely speaking, is one who is versed in human
laws.

t The designing of means always implies reasoning. Hence a
mere " sense " could not make laws. Sense could not even apprehend
the abstract relation of proportion or of suitability between means
and ends. For this reason, though animals may attack an enemy,
thf-y cannot devise means by which to kill an enemy.

633

634 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

^petent to devise means for obtaining an end, it follows
that law is primarily a function of Reason.

But, though law belongs essentially to, and dwells in
the directing Reason {est in regulante et mensuranie)
it is evident that law belongs by participation to, and
exists in, the subject ruled {est in regulato et mensuraio).
Thus the laws that govern the movements of machinery
are a participation and reflection of the mind of him
by whom the machinery is designed. The law of the
Divine Reason, which designed the structure and func-
tions of the animal kingdom, dwells by participation in
animals, and directs them to their ends. This exten-
sion of the laws of Reason to the things which are
directed by Reason is a point of cardinal importance in
Ethical Science, and will be considered at greater length
when we come to speak of the natural and eternal laws
and their relation to one another.

But though law proceeds from Reason, it bears also
some reference to will. For, law being a rule of action,
it has two essential elements — it is a plan and a directing
or moving force. It arranges a line of action, and it
binds to the adoption of that line. It is a thought and a
command. For instance, a human law is something
more than a mere plan for the securing of the common
good. It is a plan which the legislator lays on our wills
for acceptance, a plan which the legislator .binds us to
follow.

Hence, law is a function_flQ^of intellecj^ '^1qd<^ but QJ
Yfill also. Intellect_ is the planning, the thinking, the
arrangmg power — will the moving, the bindmg_j)Qwer.
Yet, priJTiarily^and essentially, law is a functiflji. of
^ Ke!n?oh or intellect, and not dl will ; lor^wiDTj^n binding
iis^grfivf"«^ its ail'tiCLloh fluiii Rtj^rson. WilT^rges to
tKcdoing of a certain act ; but it urges, in the case of a
genuine law, under the guidance of intellect. The will
that binds a subject independently of intellect is a prin-
ciple not of law but of confusion and destruction {magis
iniquitas quan} lex). Hence, inasmuch as the guidint;

ON LAW 635

power is always principal, and of more consequence
than that which is guided, we regard law as primarily
and essentially a function of Reason — not of will.

Note on " Natural Selection " as a Substitute for
" Aws OF Reason." — Some try to explain the order of
the living Universe, not as a result of laws of Reason, but
as a result of natural selection, of " Struggle for Existence,"
of the " Survival of the fittest." Now, it is not within the
scope of the present work to discuss this question of " natural
selection " on its own merits. But we may be permitted to
point out that " natural selection " and " struggle," even if
we accord them a large place among the existing world-
forces, are not to be regarded as incompatible with the ex-
istence in the world of laws of Reason. Nay, they may
themselves be laws of Reason. For even an all- wise Reason
might impart a " law of struggle " to living things in order
to secure the development and continuance of the best types
amongst the species, and in that case we should speak of
the " struggle for existence " as a law or function of Reason.

Yet, even though we admit the possibihty of such a law,
we could not regard the " struggle for existence " as an
ultimate explanation of the natural order of things, for
" struggle " amongst living beings is itself based on the
existence in plants and animals of natural appetites, and of
a natural law depending on these appetites. Thus, animals
struggle for sustenance because they have a natural appetite
for food. Hence the " struggle for existence " could not be
the ultimate principle of the order of the Universe, but the
natural laws of the appetites ; and as we shall show later,
it is from these natural laws that we come to the knowledge
of the Eternal Law of the Supreme Reason from which all
order proceeds.

It may be well to add here that to our mind the existence
of a supreme directing Reason is even more evident from the
study of the natural appetites of plants and animals than
from their structure. It is evident that the animal is driven
to seek for food and other objects in order that thereby it
may secure its own life and that of the race. But of these
ends the animal itself has no consciousness and no care when
following its natural appetites ; and hence its direction to
these ends depends on some other power besides its own
appetites.

To the foregoing argument some philosophers might raise
the objection that it is built on the assumption that the

636 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

appetites of the various animals are natural — that is, that
they were present in animals from the beginning. Now,
though it is quite true that our argument assumes the natural
and original character of some appetites, still we claim to
have shown that the existence of natural appetites in living
things is more than an assumption. It is an established fact
(see chapter on The Good). As Leslie Stephen points out,
unless certain natural appetites were present from the
beginning, the animal world could not have survived a
generation. These appetites, therefore, are part of the
natural constitution of the animal races, and they are, as we
have said, evidence of the existence, somewhere, of a
designing mind.

(2) We have revt tn rlp|P|-p-iinp thp pnd nf law. Law,
we claim, is always ordained to the xommon £;ood. We
saw that law is a rule of action. Now, the good or wel-
fare at which action aims may be either the good of an
individual merely or of a whole community. But law
evident!}^ aims at realising a certain unity of action,
which without law, it would be difficult if not impossible
to secure ; and, therefore, we claim that law apper-
tains principally to the good of the community only,
since the conduct of an individual does not need to be
unified by any rule of guidance. For another reason,
also, we claim that law has reference principally to the
common good and not to the individual good — namely,
that everything in nature which is defined by its effects
is defined or denominated b}^ its highest effect, not by
its lowest. Thus, we speak of man not as a vegetative
or sensitive, but as a rational, being. And, therefore,
it is right that we should regard law as a rule of action
given to a community ; for the good of the community
is .higher than that of the individual, being related to
the individual good as the whole is related to the part.
Just, therefore, as the plan of an architect regards
j)rimarily not the parts of the house, but the whole
house to which the parts are subordinate, and, in a
secondary way only, the perfection of the parts, so law
has reference primarily to the order which is to be
followed in the securing of the con-.nion good, aruJ

ON LAW 637

•
/secondarily to the I'nrlivirlna] g77pH Rules of action,
we admit, are often formulated for the guidance of
individual conduct only. But we should no more re-
gard rules of this kind as laws than we should speak of
a couple of individuals as composing the State or of a
mere well-ordered sitting-room as an Art Gallery. The
individual good is neither wide enough nor great enough
to be the sole end of law.

From what we have said, it will be evident that the
law of the Prime Ruler appertains directly and princi-
pally to the common good of all creatures — the law of
any other subordinate ruler to the common good of
some lesser perfect community. We say " a perfect ^
community," because law belongs only to a community
which is capable of attaining its own ends — that is, it
belongs to a community which is self-sufficing. The
rules of a particular house or of a family are called, not
laws, but precepts, for a house or family is not a self-
sufficing community.

We should, however, remark in explanation of our
doctrine that the end of law is the good of the com-
munity, that not all laws are meant to bitid the whole
community or are meant to lead directly and tmme^itely
to the good ot the whole community. For, man\^ laws
bind a part only of the community, and directly betiefii^
no more than a part. But persons that come under
laws of this kind come under it as parts of the com-
munity, and the law which guides them is to be regarded
as part of the general scheme for the securing of the
common good. In this sense we describe law as directed
always to the general good.

(3) A law requires to be promulgated. ^ By promulga-
tion is meant the bringing of a law under the notice of
those whom it binds, and giving it to them as binding.
Now, a law is a rule of action, and since nothing can be
a rule of action to men unless it comes to the knowledge
of those whom it binds (human action being always
directed by knowledge), it follows that promulgation is

638

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

necessary for law. Promulgation must also be certain,
for true knowledge implies certainty ; so that if the pro-
mulgation of any law be doubtful such a law is not
sufficiently promulgated, and it is not to be regarded
as binding.

Promulgation, ^if^wmror^ jip^d not succeed in bringing
a^law under the notice of every subject. A law which
is published may bind its subjects, even though it fails
to reach the notice of some individuals. But, though
this is true as regards many of the effects of law, still,
in order that a law may bind the individual conscience
formally — in other words, in order that its violation may
be regarded as, properly speaking, a transgression — it
must be known with certitude * even by the individual,
since for formal sin it is necessary that a man sins
knowingly and willingly.

The foregoing considerations will suffice to give us
the full definition of a law — it is a " dictate (ordinatio)
of Reason given and promulgated Jar ^^^^ r.or""^"" good
by one who ^^^q f^hprp;p nf the commurtjtv."

(4) A supplementary question remains as regards the
subject of laws, or what and whom it binds. A law may
bind any creature, for there is no creature that may not
be directed to some end. But, as we shall see later, law
in its strict sense extends onl}^ to rational creatures, and
the only rational creatures that concern us here are
human beings. The question then arises — Are all men
subject to law ? Our answer is — Everv human being
is subject to the natural law, for every hnmpn Iwm^ is
possessed of human nature. Rijj^Qply such people, as
are hahitually^lk^^^bis^ud pf thff ii^<^ nf Rp^^9]r^ :irc subject
tomiman laws — that is, to laws that emanate from men.
Infants and mad people, therefore, could not be bound
by human law, but those who are habitually sane, even
though they suffer from a temporary mental aberration.

• The subject of Probabilism is intimately connected with this
qucHlion of promulgation. A brief reference to it is found at the end
of our ciuipter on Conscience.

ON LAW 639

are subject to human law. But though all men are
subject to the natural law, and those who are habitually
sane are subject to human laws, still the formal — that
is, the criminal — violation of any law, whether natural
or human, is possible only in the case of one who is in
actual possession of the use of Reason.

A practical consequence of the doctrine we have just
laid down — the doctrine that all men are subject to the
natural law — may be mentioned here, namely, that it is
not lawful to incite infants or mad people to acts that
oppose the natural law. To do so is to incur all the guilt
of their act.*

(b) Of the Various Kinds of Laws

Men are governed by four principal kinds of law —
namely, the Eternal, the Natural, the Human, and the
(positive) Divme'Tavvs. The last of these belongs to
revealed science, and need not be considered here. The
other three will now be considered at some length.

THE ETERNAL LAW

(i) " As with every artificer," writes Aquinas, f " there
pre-exists the plan of the things that are set up by art,
so in every governor there must pre-exist a plan of the
order of the things that are to be done by those who are
subject to his government. And as the plan of things to
be done by art is called a pattern or exemplar, so the

• Apropos of the doctrine that the aim of law is the good of a
community, Aquinas points out that whereas a subject may be a bad
man in his private life without injury to the State, he cannot be a bad
citizen — that is, he cannot set the public legislation at nought without
injury to the State. A ruler, on the other hand, will harm the State
if he is bad, either in his private or his public life — eadem est virtus
principis et boni viri — for even the inner dispositions of a ruler tend
to make themselves felt in the laws he enacts. This latter portion
of Aquinas' teaching, however — that, namely, which concerns the
requirements of rulers — holds more for the case of absolute monarchies
than for constitutional monarchies or republics.

t " Aquinas Ethicus " (Rickaby), Vol. I., page 274. We begin
with the consideration ot the eternal law, because ontologically it is
prior to the natural law. But it should be remembered that the
natural law is known to every man in some measure, before the eternal,
and that through it we come to the knowledge of the eternal law.

640 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

plan of him who governs subjects has the character of a
law, if the other conditions are observed, which we have
said to be essential to a law. . . , And as the plan of
Divine Wisdom has the character of an exemplar, pattern,
or idea, inasmuch as by it all things are created, so the
plan of Divine Wisdom moving all things to their due
end has the character of a law. And thus the eternal
law is nothing else than, the plan ofDivine Wisdom as
director of,al] ar.t.s and movements."

From this passage of Aquinas we shall have no diffi-
l/culty in understanding the nature of the eternal law.
The eternal law is the law of God as directing the whole
universe to its end. By it God rules all His creatures,
and directs them to their final end, which is Himself.
There is nothing which does not come under this law —
neither plant, nor animal, nor man, nor angel ; for
Divine Providence extends to all. Later in this chapter
we shall show what is the origin of our knowledge of
the eternal law : we shall show that it is known to us
through the natural law. At present our claim is that
the eternal law itself is prior to every other law — to
natural and to human law — and that it is the ground
and principle of every other law.

(2) Now, the planning and the guiding of the created
universe by the Supreme Reason are acts of God, and
like all other acts of God they nrg indpppt](l«^nt of timp
(that is, His acts do not succeed one another in time),
since God Himself is independent of time. God's
actions have no beginning and no ending. The outer
effects that attend upon His wishes and commands are,
indeed, subject to the time-conditions of the finite
universe — they begin and end at definite moments of
the world's history — but the act from which these effects
spring is not subject to time-conditions. It is eternal.*

• There is no reason why causes should always be subject to the
same conditions of existence that govorn the ellects. God's directing
act is, like God Himself, eternal and out of the time-series altogether.
The effects of His action are subject to the time-conditions of the finite
universe

ON LAW 641

^God's law is, therefore, eternal. It existed in God
before * the created world existed, just as the plan pre-
cedes the building of a house. It was even promulgated
before the world appeared (though its promulgation was
not received until creatures existed), for promulgation
consists in the expression of the law ; and the Divine
Word, which is God's mind, expresses itself eternall};
in the fullest way.

But, it will be objected, any law is meaningless and
foolish which is enacted and promulgated before those
subjects for whom it is destined exist ; and as the
eternal law, which is destined for the created world,
existed before the creation, it was a meaningless and a
foolish law. We answer — If the law which is promul-
gated is only a means to creatures, then it is a foolish
thing to promulgate a law before they to whom it is
directed exist and are able to receive it. But the
eternal law is not a means to anything beyond itself.
Even the natural law existing in created things is not a
means to — that is, is not directed to — the good of
created things. Rather it is that which directs created
things to their end. It guides, for instance, and directs
animals to their ends. But human laws, existing in
the mind of human legislators, are directed to the attain-
ment of the prosperity of others. They are, therefore,
means to something beyond themselves. Now, the
eternal law, like the natural law, is of the nature of a
directing principle. It directs. ttiingQ ir. \\^f^\x eq^. It
produces, no doubt, effects outside of God ; but yet it
is not directed to created things. For the 'eternnl
law is not distin(;'t from God. It is the will of God
Qmself, who is the Primp. TViTTvp]- r^f^^nUfi^ynnrc • ^^^
hence, if w"e might be permitted soto spea"k, it is
its own end. Even, therefore, before created things
came into Being, the eternal law had reached its end,
though it did not produce its effects until the world

♦ This word " before " means simply that God's act did not begin
with the created world. It is the cause of the created world.

Vol. t— 41

642 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

existed and until the conditions of its fulfilment were
realised.

(3) We must now consider the scope of the eternal
law or its breadth of application. All things, necessary
as well as contingent, are subject to the eternal law.
Necessary and eternal things are subject to the eternal
law because they are subject to the Divine government.
And they are subject to the eternal law exclusively
because they are subject to Divine government ex-
clusively. Necessary things are not subject to the
government of man. A man can, no doubt, make a law
concerning other people's contingent acts ; but no
earthly ruler could make a law that men are to ha^'e or
not to have hands or feet. But God could make, and
has made, such a law, because nature and natural neces-
sities are subject to the Divine power.

Natural contingent things are also subject to the
eternal law, because they also are subject to Divine
government. But of these one class comes under human
law as well as under the eternal law — namely, human
actions. Other contingent things come under the
eternal law 07ily. The reason of this is interesting.
Man, as we have said, can make a law to guide the
conduct of human beings, but he could not issue a law
to irrational creatures. For man cannot, as God does,
give to things natural inclinations towards those ends
which he wishes them to attain. Hence, nnythinp^hrjj-
is directed by hjimfut^governm^t musr]|be]^apabl£ of
receivmg directJQp -by lygiyof command, and of directing
its own acts accordingly^ Btlt — tmrmals can neither
receive a command nor direct themselves. They cannot
receive a command, for a command can influence to
action only in so far as it is understood, and animals
cannot understand human commands.* Neither can
they direct themselves to action, because they are not

• Tlic obvious objection to the above, that some animals " under-
stand " their master's command to " come " or to " depart," is not
worlii discussing here.

ON LAW 643

free. Therefore^ being unable to receive a command
and unable to direct themselves, they are not subject
to human government. Any eiTect, therefore, that a
man may wish to bring about in animals he must him-
self produce in them, without their co-operation. But
man can issue a law to other men by conveying to their
minds the knowledge of what they are to do. And in
this the human law is, even as a directive force, like the
eternal. For, just as a man guides others by imprinting
a principle of action in the minds of others, so God
directs by imprinting an inner directive principle in all
things — namely, the natural law — by which internal
principle they are moved to obey Him.

THE NATURAL LAW

(i) As we have already pointed out, law being a
measure and rule of action, it exists in two wa^•s — in
that which rules and in that which is ruled (" in men-
surante et tn mensurato "). As existing in God the
supreme law is eternal ; ^^ frr^nrg '''" fhfi m.hjr.rt ri^^l^d
it is Known as tfie^natural Jaw. And since the ruler
comes before that which is ruled, the eternal. Jaw^ is
prior to the natural law and is its cause. ^^~"

But though ontologically the eternal law is prior to
and is the ground of the natural law, yet we are to con-
ceive the natural law as logically prior in regard to us —
that is, as coming first in the order of our knowledge. For
just as it is from the existence of the finite world that
we come to know of God's existence who is first cause
of all, so also * it is from the existence of the natural

* In his article on " Divine Providence " (" S. Theol." I., Q. XXII.,
Art. 1.) Aquinas follows this a posteriori method — that is, his argunacnt
for Providence proceeds from effect to cause, from the existence of law
in the Universe to the existence of a Divine Providence. Later, in
establishing the Divine government of the Universe (Q. ClII., Art. I.),
he argues in a two-fold way — first, a priori from the idea of a most
perfect being, saying that it is most congruent that such a Being should
rule the world according to law ; and, secondly, a posteriori from the
manifest existence of natural " law " in the Universe. In the text
above we follow the a posteriori proof, as Aquinas himself seems to
do when treating of the relation of the Natural to the Eternal law.

644 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

law of the universe that we establish Divine Providence
and the existence of the eternal law. The natural law,
since it exists in creatures, is an effect ; and, therefore,
it presupposes another law above itself from which it
springs.

(2) Existence and purpose of natural law. We know
that a natural law exists and what its function is from
the fact that everj^thing in the world is guided and
directed to its end by certain natural appetites (habent
inclinationes in proprios actus et fines).* Law^is„any
rule of action which guides and directs things to the
attainment of their proper perfection. Now the ap-
petites are certain natural tendencies which guide and
impel to, by creating a need for, certain objects. These
objects constitute the natural ' good ' of things (object
of appetite being our definition of ' good ') and natural
perfection consists in their attainment. Hence the
natural appetites are a source of law, the law, viz. by
which the world, and all that is in it, are guided to their
proper natural perfection.

(3) Scope of the natural law. The tiatur^^ii^aw is
wider in its scope than the ends of the appetites. It
extends -also.to the.ja£ajis necessary f^r .ntta-ining thpsc
ends. For, if we must attain the end, then we must
iHso^ adopt the means. For instance, the animal must
live — it has a natural appetite for life. Therefore it
must have food. Man must develop (development being
a natural end) and therefore man must have Society,
which is necessary for development. "Fhcp me.ms, then,
as well as the end^ ^re qf-q^tural law. Often^ indeed,
flTe means are necessary by a double title, for when
tlic ends to which they lead are of fundamental im-
portance, nature often supplies special appetites for

• St-e pages 104-11.3, 129-134 ; also paRcs 300 392. Hegelians,
and pantheists generally, speak of these appetites as phages in the
Divine Consciousness. St. Thomas Aquinas iiescril)es them as ordinary
finite fotces, physical and j)sychical. Tlie lirst view is tlie ' world-
view 'of ni\slii.ism, the second that of Piiilosophy and sound common-
■cnse.

ON LAW 645

the means, e.g., food and the care of offspring which are
both of natural law, first as being necessar}^ means
to the life of the individual and the race, and secondly,
as objects of special appetites. The natural law then
extends both to means and ends.

(4) Kinds of natural law. The natural appetites
differ not only in their ends but also in the manner in
which they guide to these ends. In plants, appetites
take the form of irresistible vital forces, which physically
impel the plant to develop in a certain way. The animal
appetites are felt as sensuous impulses or psychical
desires^ depending on sf^rit;nnn'; kri^wipdg^ In man
besides the^R^TH^ kinds there are also appetites which
depend on Reason, like the appetite for social inter-
course, lor knowledge of causes, and for the good-in-
general. As Aquinas says some appetites belong to
man as substance, some as animal, some as rational,
the manner in which the appetites affect the agent
depending in each case on the ixiture to which they are
attached. Like the appetites, therefore, the laws built
on those appetites differ widely in the way in which
they ^uide things to their ends. Since, however, in
man most of the appetites are under the control of
Reason, and since as a consequence, it is by Reason
rather than by the appetites directly that men are
guided to their ends, it becomes necessary to speak of
the natural law in man, so far as it concerns deliberate
acts, as a law of Reason.*

t (5) The precepts of the natural law. The precepts of
the natural law or the 4u^;pa-which it imposes are many,
and varied, because the natural appetites are many
and varied. There are as we saw a number of appetites

* Not in the sense that Reason creates the law (as Kant claimed),
but in the sense that Reason promulgates and enforces it. This. law,
however, is deduced by Reason from the requirements of the natural
appetites. We sometimes speak of " right Reason " as the criterion
and law of good conduct. But it is to be remembered that by " right
Reason " is meant Reason as according with the claims of the natural
appetites (see page 174). The natural law, therefore, is founded on
the natural appetites or needs of man.

646 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

which belong to man in his various capacities as sub-
stance, as animal, as rational, and these appetites create
necessities for their several objects, and the means to
them, which necessities we speak of as precepts of
nature. From this, however, we are not to conclude
that each man is under an obligation to secure the ends
of all the appetites. For, first, no man could possibly
attain them all ; and, secondly, the interests arising
out of one appetite are often at variance with those of
another, and, therefore, both cannot be attained. Thus
marii.ige and a soldier's duty are in some circumstances
quite incompatible. It is for Reason to determine in
each case what is best for each one to do, the general
principle of Reason being that each man should attain
some of the ends which belong to the life and perfection
of the individual whilst the duty of attaining what
appertains to the life and perfection of the race devolves,
not on each individual but on the race, such and so
man}' individual? only being required to share the
burden who are necessary for the attainment of the
required end.

(6) Relation of natural to the eternal law. Froin
within, the universe is guided to it-^ pndii ^''y TlfjillKP^
jaw^ But above and outside the world stands the
eternal law of the Prime Mover, and in this law the
natural law has its ground and cause. Now as the
lio.se is only a repetition and a reflection of tlie idea
of the architect received into the material building, and
as the movement of the arrow is only an impression of
the directive act of the archer, so, natural_Jaw_isJo be
rpgniV^r:.! as^a reflection :<rid pprtj^'ipation of thc^etc^ial
law. By this we do not mean that the natural law
is unreal, that it is a mere image, like the rcllection
of the sun in the waters. The natural law is a
reflection in the sense in which the house reflects
the idea of the architect— it is a icflection but real and
substantive.

(7) Universality and invariabilHy of natural law. In

ON LAW 647

its primary principles the natural law is universal, i.e.
it holds for all, because the natural appetites are uni-
versal. But the conclusions from these principles are
not all universal since they depend on the circumstances
as well as the principles.

The natural law is also in some respects invariable.
But in order to bring put its invariability it is necessary
to bring out the different senses in which a law is said
to vary. Variation may be either objective or subjective,
i.e. it may occur in things themselves or in our opinions
about things. Again it may occur by addition [i.e.
there may be increase in the number of laws) or by
subtraction {i.e. a thing which is prescribed by law at
one period may cease to hold for another).

Now subjectively, or in regard to our knowledge of
the law, the natural law may vary, not indeed in regard
to first principles (these, as we saw,* cannot remain
unknown) but in regarcf to the conclusions, particularly
the remote conclusions. Objective variation is possible
in regard to the applications of the first principles |
since the applications depend on the varying circum-
stances of human action. What a man should ea^ at
one period may not be necessary at another. The
question of objective variation in the primary principles
thcn:selves has already been treated. We saw % that
the principles are grounded on the existence in us of
natural needs, which are themselves based upon natural
appetites. We saw also that though variation in these
appetites, in the sense of the disappearance of some of
them from our constitution, or the appearance of a new
■appetite, is conceivable, such alteration is hardly ion-
sonant with the physical conditions of our constitution.
Also that if any appetite were to disappear it would not
necessarily involve the cessation of the corresponding
natural precept. The conclusion to which we were

* page 387.

■f and in the two ways m?ntioncd, i.e. by addition and by subtraction.

X page-o 3^9-393.

648 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

led was that variation is hardly to be regarded as
possible in the primary natural principles themselves,
though the widest divergence is to be expected in their
applications. And this conclusion is in accordance with
what is known of the laws of development in the world
generally, even in spheres inferior to that of human
life — viz. permanence in the great underlying laws and
forces with wide variation in their effects through
variation in the circumstances in which these laws and
forces are operative.

The jus gentium*

We shall here say a brief word about a kind of law which
is generally said to stand midway between the natural and
positive law, viz., the jus gentium. It mav be c^efincd as
that porHnn of tVip pncifiv^^ n^ {^nmar. Iqm; \{\]\ch \?. mmmon
to all nations. In " S. TheoL," -I. II., XCV., 4, we find an
answer to the difficulty how can any law which is merely
human be common to all nations since in things that depend
on the will of the legislator divergence is always to be expected.
St. Thomas explains that there are some conclusions of the
natural law which are remote and difficult and about these
all will not be in agreement ; but there are some that are
proximate and easy, and which, moreover, do not depend
on variation in circumstance, and about these all nations
will agree. These latter precepts constitute between them
what is known as the jus gentium.^ ]w rp:i1ifT,Y hoinfi mp-
clusions from natural princ[ple^ thpy^fp n pf^^-t-oi-Uaij nntijr.nl
law strictly so called ; but they are accounted as positive
law, because tiiey are re-enacted and enforced by positive
authority. An example would be the ordinary natural laws
of buying and selling, and the law forbidding murder. These
are* natural laws. But they are re-enacted and enforced by

* We earnestly recommend the study of Fr. Cathrein's chapter on
jus gentium in Moralphilosophic.

•f It will be seen,, tliercforo, that the jus gentium corresponds
exactly with tlic first set of positive laws mentioiu'd later, page ()50,
viz., tiiose which are derived from the natural principles by way of
conclusion (as opptxsed to those derived hy way of determination) and
whicli ure of such importance to the community that they are made a
part of the State code.

ON LAW 649

tlie civil governments for two reasons, first, because of their
im}Jortance to the community — men must be compelled by
positive sanctions to obey them ; secondly, because though
thinking men must all know of them some individuals may
not, and from their importance they must be brought to the
knowledge of every person.

From what we have sa'id \t is easy to account for the
apparently very varied views which have been taken of the
meaning of jus gentium. These views are not wholly opposed
but may be regarded as variants of the original definition
considered from different points of view. St. Thomas, for
instance, in addition to the definition given above, defines it
also as that part of the natural law which is proper to man,
excluding what is common to men and animals.* But it is
evident that the part of the natural law which is common
to men and animals, e.g., the necessity of food, does not
require to be enacted by positive law since first it is known
to everybody, and second there are sufficient inducements
in our nature to fulfil such laws without the intervention
of the civil legislator. But the jtis gentium is a part of the
positive law. Indeed it will be found tliat the iz/.s gentium
applies exclusively to law^ nt pmtirp and justice obtams
amongst men only.

'Other variants of the original definition are to be found
in Salmond's Jurisprudence and the Moral Philosophy of
Schiffini. e.g., in Roman law it was that part of the law
which was common to Romans and outsiders. Suarez
defines it a<; thnt p--^^^ ^f ^hp ^^'^mon positive law \^'hiVli i-^
founded on universal custom, t

* Commentary on Nich. Ethics, V. 7. In S. Theol. I. II., Q. XCV.,
Art. 4, St. Thomas speaks more carefully than in the Commentaries.
He says that the jus gentium represents those conclusions of the natural
law which are proximate and easy and therefore about which men
readily agree (and which, of course, through their social importance
are made also a part of the positive law). He adds that they are thus
distinguished from the pure natural law, particularly that part of the
latter which is common to men and animals. These latter precepts
are not made a part of the positive law for the reasons given in the
text above.

t The confusion which has arisen amongst jurists and even amongst
some theologians can easily be avoided by adhering closely to the
definition given by St. Thomas which clearly corresponds to the
original conception of jus gentium amongst the Roman lawyers.

The definition of jus gentium given by some theologians that it
is that part of the law which depends on a universal natural principle
and a contingent fact is clearly wrong. There is no contingent element
in the law forbidding murder.

650 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

ON HUMAN LAW

(i) All human State laws are derived fro^ ^^irl rest
on the "natural iaw.*_ ^ome are derived from natural
la\\^6y way of conclusion, i.e. they enforce some necessary

conclusion ot the natural law. Others are ceri\eT_^
way of determination, i.e. natural law prescribes some
en3^ but it leaves' the means to that end undeter-
mined. Natural law, e.g., requires that the State be
supported, but it does not decide in what wa}^ whether
by voluntary subscriptions or by taxes ; whether by
direct or indirect taxation. This is the work of the
positive law — to " determine." as Aquinjas says. " in
eTTcIT case what nature leaves undetermined . ' ' These
latter laws are more positive than those which are
derived by way of conclusion, since they depend more
on human choice. But it is important to remember
that both kinds ultimately depend on nature, i.e., on
natural requirements, and, therefore, on natural law.

(2) Some have thought that human laws do not bind
in conscience. This is a very grave error, and one
fraught with grave consequences to the community. f
Human laws are either jvst or unjust. If they are just
they bind in conscience by virtue of the natural and
eternal law from which they arc derived. If they are
unjust they do not bind, and are not, properly speak-
ing, laws. The only question, then, that arises in

* An examination of the ordinary law of the land will reveal this
connection. Every law presupposes some good to he attained which
is not dependent for its value upon the law in question. Laws arc
enacted, e.g., that the people may be fed, that order may be main-
tained, that property may be safeguarded and so the common good
secured. It is these natural ends that constitute the reasonableness
of the law. No legislator would dream of introducing a law which
did not lend to the promolit)n of some natural end.

I Some ethicians, particularly lawyers — e.g., Blackstone ((pioted in
Si<lgwick's " Methods," page 302) — seem to think it an indignity to
human law to regard it as bimling in conscience, so strongly ilo they
in.sist on its non-moral character. This attitude we cannot under-
stand. Surely a law must gain in dignity and influence by the fact
tl>at over ami alxjve the authority conferred on it by the State it has
ulso authority from Conscience. To hold with lilackstone is to bo
uulnie to the State laws.

ON LAW 631

regard to the binding power of a law is the question
of its justice or its injustice. Nmv to ho. juFft n ]:i\v
should be just in respect of (a) its ends — that is, it
should be ordained to the common good ; {b) its author
— the law should not exceed the legislative powers of
the Ruler ; (c) in respect of jqrm — the burden imposed
by the law should be properly distributed. A law that
is just in all these respects is binding in conscience.
If it fails in regard to any one of these it does not bind,
and is not a valid law.*

(3) Human law possesses neither the universality nor
the invariability' that belong to natural law, for human
law depends on the contingent and varying conditions
of the State. And for this reason it is sometimes right
and necessary to change or abrogate a human law —
namely, when it becomes unsuitable to the altered con-
ditions of a nation and when its observance would co
harm. But a law should not be ch-ini'T^'^ ivif^nnf ^-ii-»
reason, for change of law weakens the very principle of
law, there being no better bulwark for the protection
of law against the tidal wave of revolution than the
custom which arises from long-continued observance
of it. Custom makes the observance of a law seem
easy, whereas a new law tends to offend our sense of
freedom, and the observance of it is always attended
with some difficultJ^

A law, we said, should change when the general good
requires its abolition, but this change can only be
effected by the law-giver. He can, however, effect this

* Ethicians generally mention six qualities of a true valid law — it

must be possible, good, useful, just, permanent and promulgated. All
six are contained in the three given above.

In regard to the distinction drawn above between validity in respect
of end, author, and form, and our doctrine that to be valid at all a law
should be valid in respect of all three, we should notice that in the
writings of Hegel, Stahl and other modern jurists, mention is also
made of formal validity, not in our sense, given above, but in the sense
of validity in respect of author ; and the view is defended that when a
law is formally valid — that is, when it is enacted by a genuine Ruler —
tl en, even though the (material) contents of the law are evil, the law
is a genuinely valid law. Tiiis view is quite opposed to the teaching
Kivcn in the text above.

652 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

change in cither of two wa^s — either directly, by posi-
tive personal interference, or indirecth% by allowing a
contrary custom to obtain. This second mode of legis-
lation requires to be explained. Every law emanates
from the Reason and will of the lawgiver. But a law-
giver may manifest his wishes by deeds as well as by
words ; and, by allowing a custom to obtain against a
law, a lawgiver may be regarded as indicating, in deed,
if not in word, his desire for its abolition. For when
the violation of a law is frequently allowed to pass un-
noticed by the legislator, his attitude seems to spring,
not from sloth or inactivity or from some momentary
desire, but from a deliberate judgment of his Reason as
to what should be done. Hence, custom can expound,
abolish, or even make a law.

We should remark, however, in regard to custom that
the legal value of custom is very different in different
States. Where the people are the rulers (a form of
government for which Aquinas makes express pro-
vision), a custom may more easily become law than
under an absolute monarchy, since, in the former case,
it is the lawgivers themselves that institute the custom.
Wq_ should also remark that custom of itself can never
^'nm^ ''-"^"•'^nrt 2."" in other words^ custom is a
material source of law, not a formal source, i.e. it does
not become law by its own authority as custom, rather
it becomes law because it is regarded as reflecting the
will of the legislator — it becomes law by his authority.

STATEMENT OF THE THEORY

Having distinguished the various kinds of law, and
the sources of each, we are now in a position to criticise
Kant's celebrated theory of the " Autonomy of the
Reason " — that is, the theory that ever}- man is a law
to himself, that each man's Reason originates the
moral laws by which he is individually bor.nd, that

ON LAW 653

actions could not be moral if law proceeded from any
other source than a man's own Reason.* By this
theory Kant attempted to effect the same revolution
in Ethical doctrine, which, by means of the theory of
the Categories, he had already tried to effect in the
sphere of the speculative understanding. For, just as
in his doctrine of the Categories, he made mind, not
objects, the source of knowledge, and in a certain way
regarded even objects themselves as the effect of under-
standing, so, by his theory of Autonomy, Kant at-
tempted to reverse the traditional Ethics, to show that
it is in mind, and not in an objective moral world, that
law originates, that Reason is a law to itself, that Reason
creates the moral law to which, in the traditional Ethics,
it was supposed to be merely subject. The theory that
man receives the moral law from another or from
anything outside himself Kant calls the theory of
" hcteronomy." This theory, he declares, is the source
of all spurious Ethics, as the theory of Autonomy is
the source of all pure and genuine Ethics.

Kant's arguments for Autonomy are the same as those
for his doctrine of Stoicism already explained. Morality, he
insists, must be categorical f and universal. From this he
argues that it cannot be grounded in objects outside the will
(for objects, in the first place, are sought only as means to
inner pleasure, and, secondly, are not universally good,
what is good for one man being often bad for another J),

* The expression sibi ipsi est lex, which is sometimes used by Aquinas
in reference to law, means not that each man is his own law but, first,
that law exists in the subject ruled as well as in the directing Reason
[in mensnrato as well as in mensurante), and, secondly, that it is only
in so far as our own personal Reason promulgates any law to us that
we are bound in conscience to obey it. Aquinas' expression, therefore,
sibi ipsi est lex, is not to be confounded with the Kantian conception
of the Autonomy of Reason referred to above.

t This argument has already been fully explained and examined
(page 266). It is repeated here only for convenience.

X Kant argues, in addition, that common opinion refuses to place
the morality of an action in the effect it produces, or in anythm»
except the inner intention. Our point against this argument is that
it docs not disprove tlie possibility of morality being founded on objects,
for inner intention may be the intention to gain some outer end or
object.

654 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

nor in sense pleasure (which, being a feehng, differs in each
individual). Hence law must be grounded in the will itself.
But it cannot be grounded in any inclination of the will, for
inclination differs in different men. Therefore, it is grounded
in a command or imperative of the Will or Practical Reason.
These arguments we answer briefly as follows : (i) Objects
are not always a means to pleasure, as was proved in our
chapter on Hedonism. (2) Not all objects are indifferent,
some good objects could not be evil for anybody, some evil
objects could not be good ; also, if good objects can be used
for an evil purpose, the fault of this misuse lies not with the
object but with the will or intention, and hence the theory
of Kant, that Will or Practical Reason is good in itself, and is,
therefore, the proper ground of morality, cannot be true.
(3) Pleasures do not differ in all people ; at least the attain-
ment of the last end must giv? pleasure to all. Also the
natural appetites and their pleasures are common to all.

CRITICISM OF THE THEORY OF AUTONOMY

(i) Law is a command laid by a superior (and, there-
fore, by a distinct Reason) on an inferior, as Kant him-
self implicitly admits when he asserts that " man always
fincis himself compelled by his Reason to transact it
(law) as if at the command of another." But no man
can either he superior to himself or can look upon him-
self as his own superior. Therefore, no man can impose
a law on himself.*

(2) Some ethicians have tried to show that the giving
of a law or the issuing of a command to one's self is a
psychological impossihility. This view we do not ac-
cept ; and it is expressly denied by Aquinas (" S.
Thcol.." I., II., Q. XVIL, Art. 6). But though it is
possible to command one's self, we still claim that if
law ordinarily consisted in commanding ourselves, the
end of law would be in most cases frustrated ; for the
end of law is to induce or constrain individuals to do
certain acts, and hence it usually supposes that the

• Even Kant's claim tlial law proceeds from Keason as noumeiuil,
and is laid iiiK)n the Reason or will .is plienonuniil, will not explain
away this dilhculty. If the will is really bouml by law it is bound
noumenally, and ntnimenal will is not superior to itself. It therefore
cann(jt impose a law upon itsrlf.

ON LAW 655

wills of those whom it binds are not already determined
to those acts. But the man who issues a command to
himself to do a certain act has already willed that act,
else he could not have issued the command. Hence,
autonomy is opposed to the ordinary end of law or to
what is ordinarily regarded as its essential effect.

(3) Punishment is a necessary accompaniment of law.
But on the theory of Autonomy there could be no mean-
ing in punishment. For if a man's own Practical
Reason commands him to do something, and if the
same Practical Reason or will of the individual refuses
to do that something, then it would be impossible to
punish the refractory subject without punishing also
the legislator, which is absurd. In this theory the
same individual Reason is both governor and governed,
the same man is both good and bad — that is, both
urges to the doing of the good act and refrains from
doing it. If, therefore, under this theory you punish
at all, you necessarily punish the good with the bad,
the legislator with the subject, and thereby frustrate
the essential effect of punishment, which is, as we have
already seen, to neutralise the ill-gotten pleasure of the
evil act and to make of the delincjuent a good man.
This end cannot be achieved if good and bad, legislator
and subject, are punished indiscriminately.*

(4) To look upon each man as his own legislator is
to deprive all earthly rulers, and God Himself, of all
authority over the individual — a consequence, we think,
which no man should be prepared to disregard. Of
course, it maj^ be said in reply that, even though law
sprang from our own Reason, still it is possible that
Reason will always bid us obey the Divine commands
and those of the State, and that, therefore, Autonomy
only emphasises and confirms the Divine authority.

* Again, we fail to sec how Kant's distinction of noumenal and
phenomenal will affects our argument. Even if the noumenal will
issues the law an'd the phenomenal will receives and disobeys it, how
are we, in inflicting punishment, to secure that the punislijnent we
inflict will reach the phenomenal will alone ?

656 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Still, the fact remains that, even if our Practical Reason
were to re-affirm the Divine authority, the authority
of God and the State to command us is represented,
in this theory, as derived from our own Reason, a
doctrine which we cannot but regard as full of danger
both to religion and to the State.

(5) If the logical outcome of the Critique of Spcat-
lative Reason, in which Unity, Plurality, Causality,
Substance, etc., are represented as categories of the
Understanding, is subjectivism (or the theory that the
real world is not what it seems to be, that what seems
to be objective fact is only a form of the mind), then
the logical effect of deriving the moral law from the
individual Reason, as is done in the Critique of Practical
Reason, must be to substitute for objective fact a theory
of subjectivism in Morals, or the theory that the Moral
world and its authorit}' are not what they seem to be,
that, whereas they seem to hold objectively and inde-
pendently of our wills, they really spring from ourselves.
Both theories lead directly to scepticism.*

These last two arguments, drawn from the considera-
tion of consequences, should lead us, if not to reject
this theory of Autonomy altogether, at least to examine
it closely, and to require a full and adequate statement
of its grounds, before giving it any credence. We have

* The points of analogy between the subjective Categories of the
Understanding and the law of the practical Reason are very many in
Kant's theory, and they serve to confirm the force of the argument
given above — that what is regarded as true of the categories should be
regarded as true also of autonomous law. Some of these points of
analogy arc the following : (a) Both, it is assorted, spring not from
objects but from subjective faculties ; {h) both are empty forms
without content ; (c) both are applied to the things that they govern
not immediately but through certain mediating conceptions. The
mediating conceptions in the case of the Categories arc the Schemata
of the Imagination. In the case of law the mediating conception is
the " typic of the Understanding " — that is, a universal case of tlie
realisation of law in concrete nature. This typic, Kant tells us, is
none other than the Categorical Imperative. The distinction between
the schemata and the typic in Kant's theory is that whereas the
schemata are applied to objects which the Understanding does not
create, the typic is applied to acts which the Practical Keason creates
—namely, moral acts.

ON LAW 657

shown, in the present section, that the grounds on
which this theor}' rests are neither adequate nor con-
vincing.

THEORY OF WILL AUTONOMY

The Kantian doctrine of the Autonomy of Reason has
of late been superseded by other theories of Autonomy,
two of which we shall notice very briefly here — namely,
that of Will- Autonomy and that of Immanent Heter-
onomy (the latter tlieory being radically a theory of
Autonomy, though opposed to Autonomy in name).

The cardinal principle of the theory of Will-Autonomy,
as expounded, e.g., by Dr. Lipps,* is that man is a law
to himself, not because Reason commands him to do
certain acts, but because he has from nature an appetite
for these acts. The man who does anything from inclina-
tion, Dr. Lipps tells us, acts from himself, and he who
acts from himself is rightly regarded as autonomous.

Our criticism of this theory is that to have an inclina-
tion to do something and to impose on ourselves a
moral law (which latter is the assumption contained in
every theor}^ of Autonomy) are very different concep-
tions. There are thousands of things to which a man
is inclined by virtue of the appetites within him, which,
yet, a man is free to resist, and hence, even though our
appetites may be the basis of a law, still the full necessity
of moral law could not consist in them alone. They
could not give rise to the categorical necessity of attain-
ing their objects which is essential to moral law. The
theory of Will-Autonomy, therefore, cannot be regarded
as a sufficient account of law or obligation.!

* " Die Ethischen Grundfragcn," Lectures 4 and 5. This theory
of Dr. Lipps we regard as a natural and necessary reaction against
the extreme intellectual formalism of Kant's doctrine.

t Dr. Lipps regards blind obedience to the will of another as sinful,
since blind obedience does not distinguish prudent and rightful from
imprudent and wrong obedience. The same theory is taught by
Fichte. Our answer is that Religion (Dr. Lipps' attack is mainly on
the obedience of religion) never inculcates blind obedience in thifs
sense. Religion and the natural law forbid us to obey any command
of any superior which is evidently wrong or unjust.
Vol. 1—42

658 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

THEORY OF IMMANENT HETERONOMY

The theory of Immanent Heteronomy is explained
and defended by Ed. von Hartmann in the chapter
" Heteronomie and Autonomie " of the " Ethische
Stiidien." The supreme lawgiver, he tells us, lives
not without, but within, the world, and is not distinct
from ourselves. The theory that places Him in in-
visible light beyond the world — the pseudo-moral theory,
as he calls it, of transcendent heteronomy — is a result
of a certain illusory process of " projection," by which
what is really within us is represented by our imagina-
tion as without.

On the other hand, we must not identify the supreme
lawgiver, as Kant did, with our individual Reason, since
individual Reason could only give rise to contingent
precepts without either the binding power or the per-
manence of genuine laws.

The true lawgiving Reason is the Reason or mind of
society, and this Reason Ed. von Hartmann (following
the doctrine of the Solidarists already noticed) explains
as the true being and substance of all individual minds.
This Universal Reason being one with humanity, the
source of human law is immanent in the world ; being,
however, wider than individuals it is to be regarded as
a heteronomous principle in so far as it legislates for
individuals.

" Immanent Heteronomy," he writes,* " is heter-
onomy only for the individual as such, but, for the
whole people, as individual of a higher order, it is
autonomy. . . . The lawgiver in the case of this heter-
onomy is not an external ego but the people themselves
— the higher (social) organism, of which each indi-
gental feels and knows that he is a member and an
uiif al part. The individual is a part and member of
vsd lawgiver, and (therefore) participates in the law-
giving of the State . . . according to the degree in which

• " Ethibchc Studicn," page 114.

ON LAW 659

his (share of) membership allows him to participate (in
the making of its laws). ... In this sense heteronomy
may to some extent be looked on as a system of laws
left us by past generations, as a kind of inherited social
autonomy, in so far as the living generation is originally
one with its direct predecessors, and cannot be thought
of out of that relation."

Criticism. — The chief points in this theory of " Im-
manent Heteronomy " that arise for criticism have
already been noticed in various parts of this work.
Thus, the doctrine that the individual is not distinct
from society, but is related to it as a mere part is related
to the whole, is fully examined in connection with the
theory of the Solidarists in our chapter on Utilitarianism.

As regards the main contention of Ed. von Hart-
mann — the contention, namely, that law is imposed on
the individual by the Universal Consciousness — our
criticism is that, if this Universal Consciousness is
really one with the individual consciousness, then the
theory of Immanent Heteronomy is open to all the
arguments that we have brought against the general
theory of Autonomy as formulated by Kant. If it is
not one with the individual, then, in so far as it is not
one with him, it is not a theory of Autonomy but of
Heteronom}^ of Transcendent (not immanent) Heter-
onomy, and the supposed difficulties of Heteronomy
hold, therefore, against it as against any other heter-
onomous theory of Morals.*

* On account of its importance we have reserved the following
note until the end of our criticism of the " autonomous " theories.
It seems to us that the ruling idea in all these theories is that since
man is a person, self-contained and self-directed, it would be an in-
dignity to his nature to regard him as deix;ndent on laws laid upon
lum from outside himself. The perfection of a self-directed being
must consist in accordance with laws laid on him by himself. To
regard Reason as subject to laws imposed from outside itself is to rank
Reason as on a par with the mere animal world which is in no way
self -direc live.

Now with this reasoning we agree so far as to admit that Reason
cannot be expected blindly to submit to laws laid upjn it from outside.
It would be an indignity to Reason to ask it to submit to law., that it
did not itself approve as good and right, and as imposed by a ngatful

CHAPTER XX
ON RIGHTS

NOTION OF RIGHT

Law, as we have seen, is a binding rule, of action. It
is the expression of the will of a Lawgiver binding us
to do or to avoid certain things. Now, sometimes that
to which the Law obliges one is the doing of some
good to another person or the refraining from doing
him an evil. The effect of such a law is to establish
in one person the duty to do or not to do something,
and in the other person the right to its being done or
avoided.

Right, then, is a result of law. It springs from law
simultaneously with duty. Right and duty are the two
termini of the one relation created by law. Thus, the
law that binds a man to pay for what he buys, estab-
lishes a relation between the seller and the buyer, which
relation is, on the side of the seller, a right to payment,
and, on the side of the buyer, a duty of payment. So,
also, the law that binds parents to support their children
establishes in the parent the duty, and in the child the
right of support.

Now, it is evident from the examples we have just
given — that of the seller of goods and that of the child —

authority. Under no circumstances could Reason be asked to submit
to laws that it regarded as wrong or unjust. Now, by giving to laws
laid upon it from without the sanction of its own approval before it
proceeds to obey, Reason in a sense may be said to lay these laws on
itself — in which sense Aquinas uses the phrase " sibi ipsi est lex."
But from this it does not follow that Reason creates the laws by which
it is governed. Law bears the same relation to Reason in the practical
that it does in the speculative sphere. It is not considered an indignity
to Reason that it should have to submit in its reasonings to laws or
principles of Mathematics. Now the laws of MatluMuatics are dis-
covered and proved (and ajiprovi-d) by the Reason — but tiiey are not
created by tlie Riisnn. So millM^r are the moral laws created by our
Reason.

660

ON RIGHTS 66i

that right is always a power of some kind, something
which enables one to have or to do something. But
right is a power of a very particular kind, as will be
seen from the following example. Every man has a
right to the exercise of his faculties. He has a right
to walk, to speak, to work, to eat, without interference
from other people. Now, a man's power to keep off
unjust interference from others is two-fold. First, he
can ward off interference by means of physical power —
the physical power of hands, and feet, and firearms.
But this is evidently not the kind of power referred to
when men speak of right. For, even when physical
force avails us nothing, when, for instance, others so
overpower us that we are unable to resist them
physically, or even when the State is unwilling or un-
able to help us, there still remains to us in many cases
another power in virtue of which we are justified in
claiming something as ours, of calling something our
own, even though we know we may never succeed in
keeping or obtaining that thing. This power we speak
of as a moral power. It is the power conferred on us
by the moral law, a law which forbids undue interference
with our liberty, a law which creates in others, if not
the desire, at least the duty to respect our liberty. And
to this moral power we give the name of right, which,
therefore, we define as the " moral power (facultas) of
doing or possessing something." The existence of such
a power in us depends on the existence of a moral law,
from which law right follows as necessarily as an}' effect
follows from its cause. If there be, for instance, in
existence a moral law that parents should support and
educate their children, then children have a right to
support and education. Right, as we said, is a relation
established by law, and, we repeat, it is a necessary
consequence of law.

The question how far this kind of power is cficacious
— that is, how far it is able to influence men to avoid
injustice — is outside the scope of our present enquiry.

662 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

which concerns the meaning of right only. But it may
not be out of place at this point to quote our view that,
though bad men may respect only ph3sical power, with
good men the moral power would seem to be the more
efficacious, for most good men avoid injustice, not
because of the terrors of punishment, but from an
inner sense of their duty to others, and of respect for
others' rights.

THE PROPERTIES OF RIGHT

Right has three principal properties — namely, {a) in-
violability, {b) limitation, (c) coaction.*

Inviolahility. The first and fundamental property of
right is its inviolability, or the fact that a man must
not be interfered with in the exercise of his right. By
inviolability we mean that if a man has a right to sing,
to walk, to hunt, then no one can lawfully prevent
him from doing these things. Every right involves this
property of inviolability — that is, every right involves
necessarily and essentially, besides the conception of
lawfulness to do a thing, the conception of a duty in
some other person not to hinder the doing of it.f In
no intelligible sense could I be said to have a right to
walk the street if every man could lawfully prevent me
from doing so. J

Limitation means that one right can limit the exer-

• Our meaning for these expressions is not quite the same as that
given by some Scholastics.

I Germap writers give to the conception of " lawfulness to do "
or " not to do " the name Erlaubtheit, whilst inviolability they call
Unversetzlich keit.

The existence of defeasible rights, or rights that can be withdrawn,
does not affect the view stated above that all rights are inviolable.
For even defeasible rights are inviolable as long as they remain

X Writers on Jurisprudence give prominence to the division of
rights into real and personal. The former avail against every man,
e.g., one's right peaceably to occupy one's house, a patimtee's riglit to
his invention. The second is a rif;ht aj^uinst six'citic persons, e.g., a
servant's right to receive wages. Now, manifestly, what is here called
real right is nothing more tlian the proi)erty of inviolability, and since
it attaches to every right, the division of rights into real and personal,
though convenient, is not properly speaking a division of rights.

ON RIGHTS 663

cise of another, that in the exercise of a right we are
not free to disregard the counter-claims of others. We
must conceive the moral laws from which rights spring
as making up one organic system, just as the parts of
the body make up one organic bodily system. And just
as the functions of one part of an organism limit the
functions of others — that is, as no part should be exer-
cised prejudicially to the others — so due regard must
be had in exercising any right, or in following any law,
to the whole system of rights and laws that regulate
human conduct. Thus, the law which gives a man
power to keep for himself what he produces is limited
and conditioned by other laws, such as the law of
charit}', which binds a man to help his neighbour. Also,
the right of one man to liberty in the use of his faculties
is limited by the right of another man to the same.
The extent of a man's rights depends largely upon this
property of limitation.

Coaction. The third property of right is that of
coaction [Erzwingbarkcit). The power or right of co-
action is the moral power that attaches to each right
of using such violence as is necessary for its defence.
Naturally the necessity for violent defence appertains
to external rights only. Thus, a father could not com-
pel the love of his children by violence, though he has
a right to their love. But external rights, like that
of property, carry with them this right of defence or
of coaction — a power which arises from the fact that he
who has a right to the end has a right to such means
as are necessary for obtaining the end. Hence, if a man
has a right to possess a house, he has a right to the
use of violence, either personally or through the State,
in its defence, provided, as we have said in the last
paragraph, -that in defending his house he offend against
no law and no other person's right.

We may here call attention to two erroneous theories
on the relation of right to coactive power, which are to
be found in the wprks of Ihering, Hegel, Thomasius,

664 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

and other modern ethicians. The first is the view that
the power of coaction which attaches to right is to be
regarded, not as a property of right, but as its essence,
that right is coactive power. Thus, Ihering * defines
right in one place as the " conception of all the coactive
laws obtaining in a State," and, in another place, as
" the securing of the conditions of social life in the form
of coercive power." And Hegel t defines abstract right
as the " right to use force." -— (-'— "^i-^^^^-r-

Now, we maintain that right cannot be the same
thing as power of coaction, since the power of coaction
presupposes right, and follows from it as a consequence.
It would be an absurd thing, for instance, for the State
to defend a man's property unless it knew that the man
had a right to his property. Defence, therefore, pre-
supposes the right of ownership, and, hence, it is pro-
perly regarded as a consequence of right — not as its
essence.

The second error referred to concerns the nature of
this power of coaction. The reader will remember that
when we spoke of coactive power as a property of right
we defined coactive power as the right to coaction, not
as actual coaction or the physical power of coaction.
By coaction here we mean that a man who owns a
hoi.se has a right to defend his house against aggressors.
But many of those ethicians to wliom we have just
referred identify right, not with the right of coaction,
but with actual physical power of coaction, so that,
according to these philosophers, a right to anything is
nothing more than the actual phjsical power that we
possess to defend or liold that thing. Now, this theory
we cannot allow. In the first place, right is not the
same thing as coaction ; and, in the second place, right
docs not involve a physical power of actual coaction,
but only the right to coaction in its defence. A man
has still a right to his house even though he is not

• In his work, " Der Zwcck im Rccht."
•f " IMiilosophy of Uight " (Dydo), page 92,

ON RIGHTS 665

able to defend it, and even though the State will not
defend it for him. Might and right are very different
things. Right appertains to the moral, might to the
physical world. Right is a moral power, might is only
brute force. We may have a right, therefore, to a thing
which still we are unable to defend. But what, it may
be asked, is the good of a right that cannot be defended
by actual violence — what good, for instance, is the right
to a house that we cannot defend, and which the State
refuses to defend ? " What is right without power,"
asks Ihering,* " but a fire that burns not — a light that
does not illumine ? " We answer — right without might
is like the fire that is smothered and will not be allowed
to burn, the light that is shut in, so that it cannot
illumine. Right without might is, therefore, a real
thing, just as the moral law is a real thing. And it
has this effectiveness, that he who violates it sins against
the moral law — a consideration, as we have already
said, that may not weigh with evil men who care nothing
for justice, but which will weigh with the just who hate
evil of every kind, and will respect a man's liberty and
property even though the State fail in its duty to defend
them. But we must remember, also, that, even though
a right of nature be undefended by the State, it will
not remain undefended by nature herself, and that
every right will in the end be vindicated by nature's
Chief Legislator. Right, even though it may not alwa3's
be vindicated here, must necessarily be vindicated at
some time and in some place.

But the point on which we wish now to insist is that
every right involves a right of its defence, and that
the right to defend may still remain, even though w^e
be not physically able to use our right. It is to this
right of defence that we allude when we say that co-
action is a property of right.

* We should explain that even though Ihering regards right as
meaningless without power of actual coaction, he also regards it as
meaningless without a moral law.

656 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

DIVISION OF RIGHTS

Rights are divided in respect of —

meaning into objective and subjective.
ground into natural and positive (or human),
origin into connatural and acquired.
yi^subject into public and private.
object into (a) affirmative and negative, and into {b) in-
alienable and alienable rights.*
binding power into perfect and imperfect, or juridical and
non-juridical,
(i) Objective Right means that thing to which we have a
right — the act which we have a riglit to do,
the object which we have a right to possess.
Subjective right is our moral power or claim to do or
have that thing.

(2) Natural right is a right conferred by and grounded upon

natural law.
Positive right is a right conferred by and grounded upon
positive law.

(3) Connatural right is a right which one possesses from

birth independently of any human conditions
— for instance, the right to life. Even from
birth a child may have a right to certain
lands willed to him by his father, yet, since
such a right depends on a human condition,
we do not speak of it as connatural.
Acquired right is a right which we come to possess in time
on the fulfilment of some condition — for
instance, a man's right to payment for goods
sold.f

(4) Public right is the right of a perfect community to have

or do something.
^Private right is the right of a particular individual, or a
family, or of an institution which is not a
perfect community.

■ r ___

* Divisions in respect of object are innumerable Most of these
mentioned in Salmond's Jurisprudence (page 222) are in respect of
object.

t It should be noticed that acquired rights, though opposed to con-
natural rights, arc not opposed to natural. Tlius, a man's riglit to
payment for goods sold is an acquired right, but natural. Another
distinction depending on origin is that of primary and sanctioning
rights. IVimary right is one that arises from law directly : sanction-
ing rights arise directly from a wrong and only remotely from law,
e.g., riglit to damages for breach of contract. The distinction, however,
is not fundamental.

ON RIGHTS 667

(5) Affirmative right is a right to do or have something done.
Negative right is a right to abstain from doing, or a right

that something should not be done.
Inalienable rights are rights to things which are also our

duty, and to which, therefore, we cannot

renounce our right, e.g., the right to life.
Alienable rights are rights that we can renounce — for

instance, the right to drink alcohol.

(6) Perfect, or juridical, or legal right is a right which is

strictly enjoined by law (whether by the
natural law or the law of the State), It is
therefore a right the fulfilment of which is
absolutely necessary to morality as long as
the law which establishes the right stands.
Examples are the right of a seller to pay-
ment, of a child to support, of a parent to
respect from his children.
/, Imperfect, or non-juridical, or non-legal rights * are rights
which, though not strictly enjoined by law,
and consequently not strictly necessary for
morality, yet are necessary to the seemliness
of morality and of virtue. Now, of these
latter rights some are more necessary than
others, for some are necessary to the decencies
of ordinary virtue [ad honestafem maris), whilst
others are necessary only for the more per-
fect life, or for the* fulness of morality and
virtue {ad majorem honestatem). Thus, to tell
a lie, apart altogether from its being a viola-
tion of God's law or of the natural law, is
also an offence against him to whom we lie.
It is, therefore, not in accordance with the
decencies of ordinary social life, which forbid
our being offensive to other people. Conse-
quently, even if a lie were not a wrong to my
own nature, it would be wrong as offending
against an imperfect right of him to whom
we tell the lie. Again, to be ungrateful to a
benefactor, though not strictly forbidden by
any definite law, is still an offence against
the ordinary decencies of social life. A bene-
factor, therefore, has an imperfect right to
gratitude.
But there is, as we said, a second class of

♦ Or, as they are soinetinacs called, claims.

668 . THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

imperfect right. There are many things
which are not due to others, which they
cannot claim from us, to omit which is no
offence against others, but whicli yet are
necessary jf we would be perfect men per-
sonally and socially — for instance, we must
be both affable and liberal with others.
These rights arc necessary only for the
fulness of morality.

Now, these three examples of rights — that
others should not tell us lies, that those whom
we benefit should be grateful to us, that men
should treat us affably and with some
liberality — are all cases of imperfect rights
or claims, and the duties that correspond to
these rights are imperfect duties.*

The meaning here given to the expression
" imperfect right " is that which generally
attaches to it in Scholastic works. And, as
this meaning is frequently distorted by
recent writers on Ethics, it may be well to
repeat that a perfect right is one that is
bestowed in strictness by law whether that
law be a law of nature or of the State, and
that, therefore, a right can be perfect even
though it is not conferred by the State, or
even though the State could not or would
not vindicate it in the sense of enforcing its
observance. Kant and his followers (includ-
ing, indeed, most modern writers on Juris-
prudence, e.g., Salmond) have no ground, it
seems to us, for the narrow view they take
of perfect right. A man's right to get back
money that has been stolen, but which he

* It is possible that the same thing might be a perfect duty from or e
point of view and imperfect from another. Thus, we are bound to
refrain from lies by a two-fold duty — a perfect duty not to violate rur
own nature and an imperfect duly to refrain from the offence which
the lie offers to another person. Kant draws a different distinction
from that given above between juridical and non-juridical or f'Hhic;'!
duties. Juridical duties, he says, are those that can be enforced both
by our inner conscience and by external legislation. Ethical duties
are those that cannot be enforced by external legislation. Juridical
duties he also calls perfect or determinate duties, or officia juris.
Kthical duties he calls imperfect, or indeterminate duties, or officia
virtiitis. Kant is, however, not always consistent in his use o| these
terms.

ON RIGHTS 669

cannot prove was stolen, and which, as a
consequence, the State will not help him to
recover, is a perfect right even though the
State will not enforce it.

THAT SOME RIGHTS ARE NATURAL

We distinguished above between natural and positive
(or human) rights — that is, betw^een rights conferred
by natural law and rights conferred by human law.
Now, many ethicians deny that any rights are natural,
and insist that all rights are conferred by positive
human law or by the State. This theory it will not be
necessary to disprove here. For we have already
shown that the natural law is a reality, and since right
is a consequence of law, it follows that any particular
right must necessarily take on the character of the
law in which it originates. The natural law, therefore,
will give rise to natural rights, as the positive law con-
fers positive rights. Thus, the right which every man
has to his own life, and to such means as are necessary
for sustaining it, is a natural right. Also, the right of
men to the fullilment of contract, to their good name,
to the fruits of their labour, the right of a husband to
fidelity on the part of his wife, the right of parents to
respect on the part of their children, and of children to
support on the part of parents, the right of the State to
:o-operation and obedience on the part of its subjects,
and of subjects to protection by the State, the right of
individual liberty (within certain well-defined limits), or
of immunity from interference from others, the right of
personal development, the right of the State to main-
tain itself and to oppose aggression from other States —
all these rights are from nature, since the laws on which
they are grounded are natural laws, these laws being
again grounded on natural appetites, as we saw in our
chapters on The Good and on Law.

Taking it for granted, then, that by making good our
doctrine that some appetites and laws are natural, we

670 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

have also shown that some rights are natural, we now
go on to prove our thesis negatively — that is, we go on
to meet the principal objections which modern Ethicians
have raised against our doctrine of Natural rights.

Objections,

(i) It has been contended by Neukamp * that rights
concern the public welfare, as " Medicine " concerns
the individual welfare. But medical laws are deter-
mined empiricall}^ from the known requirements of
bodies. Therefore, rights also should be determined
empirically. But, if rights be natural, they are deter-
mined not empirically, but a priori — that is, from some
a priori view of what man ought to be rather than from
what he is. Therefore, rights are not natural.

Reply. — If Rights follow the analogy of medicine
they must be natural. For, though medical laws are
discovered by the investigation of our human constitu-
tion, still the aim of such empirical investigation is,
first and before all, to determine the natural require-
ments of the body — that is, to determine what the
human body requires in order that it may come up to
nature's standard. For this purpose we determine the
natural position and structure of the organs, their func-
tions and natural needs, and on the consideration of
these natural requirements we build our science of
medicine. Now, upholders of the theory of natural
rights determine rights after the very same fashion as
this. They determine rights not a priori, as our op-
ponents claim, but by an empirical investigation of our
constitution and needs and the laws to which these
needs give rise ; and having thus determined nature's
standard they deduce from it the table of our natural
duties and natural rights. The analogy with medicine,
therefore, strengthens rather than disproves our theory
of the existence of natural rights.

(2) The second objection against the theory of natural

• " Einlcitung in cine Entwicklungsgcschichte des Kcchls," page 49.

ON RIGHTS 671

rights, and the objection which weighs perhaps more
than any other with the modern ethician, is that it
seems not to fit in with the laws of evolution. De-
velopment, it is argued, involves change — constant and
wide-extending. Development recognises, as Savigny
writes, no point of rest. Everything is movement from
one stage to another. Natural right, on the other
hand, write our opponents, connotes unchanging law,
absolute rest. Between these two conceptions there
can be no harmony. " We have," writes Neukamp,*
" to thank the evolution theory in its application to
the Sphere of right for the fact that the doctrine of
right has finally set itself free from the conception of a
natural ground of rights." And again, " the concep-
tion of evolution and of natural right are absolutely
irreconcilable."

Reply. — First, Evolutionists make the false assump-
tion that everything in man is subject to development.
This assumption we cannot allow. A limb may, no
doubt, alter its shape and may even atrophy from dis-
use ; but without head, stomach, lungs, and heart it
would be impossible to support human life. Part,
therefore, at least, of our human constitution is un-
changeable. So also many of our appetites are per-
manent and unchangeable, and on these are founded
0".r natural rights.

Secondly, unless there were in things an element of
stability it is impossible that the}^ could develop. It is
because the plant has permanent needs that it is able
to alter its shape and colour according as environment
acts upon these needs. So also, unless some laws were
permanent and natural, it is impossible that morality
should develop.f

* " Einleitung," page 41.

f A permanent element is necessary for the very conception of
continuity, which is a necessary part of the idea of development.
Change without continuity is not development. German jurists dis-
tinguish between change and development in right by the words
" Rechtsvcrandcrung " and " Rechtsentwicklung." The second im-
plies some stable element in right.

672 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Thirdh', our opponents declare that if rights are
natural they could not develop. On the contrary, we
say, because there is in right a natural and unchange-
able foundation, therefore development is a necessity.
The satisfaction of an unchangeable need in changeable
circumstances involves, necessarily, change of one's way
of satisfying that need. But natural rights are built
on natural law, which is, in turn, built on natural un-
changeable needs. Natural right, therefore, admits of,
and implies, development.

(3) A third objection is that the State can only annul
:a right which it creates. But the State can annul
many rights of justice, as is evident from the exist-
ence of Statutes of Limitations. Therefore, rights of
justice are a creation of the State and not of nature.
And if rights of justice are not natural, no rights are
natural.

Reply. — We deny the major proposition of this argu-
ment. The State has a natural right to do anything
that is necessary for the common good, and, therefore,
it may annul any rights, even rights which it docs not
itself create, provided that insistence on these rights
would be harmful to the community. It may also
determine the conditions of natural rights, e.g., it has
power to place conditions to contracts, and to annul
a seller's right to payment, when these conditions are
not fulfilled.*

(4) Jurists raise the difficulty that to admit that
some rights are natural would be most awkward for

* This power the State very rarely uses. It " bars the remedy "
mucli ofteuer than it " extinguishes the title."

Modern jurists, like Savigny and Neukanip, lay great stress on the
analogy between " Speech " and " right," and argue that if speech
may wholly change, right also may change, and therefore that riglit
cannot be natural. We find it hard to see any point in this dillicully,
anri therefore shall not discuss it at length. Language bears no
analogy to right. Languages arc not distinguislicd into valid and
invalid as rights arc. Language is nothing more than practice. Also,
if men agreed to alter all existing languages the world could still go
on. it we agreiil to disregard the rights of parents, children, husbands,
etc., nature would at once rebel.

ON RIGHTS 673

the State, since the State expects that its judges will
rule according to the law of the land only.

Reply, — The fact that judges are expected to rule
according to the law of the land only is proof, not that
no natural law or right exists, but only that the con-
sideration of the natural law and of natural right is to
a very large extent outside the province of judges.
The natural law, it is supposed, is fully consulted for
by the legislator when the laws of the land are being
introduced, and it is right that the judge should trust
these laws and rule according to them only, whenever
they are found to cover the case in point. We insist,
however, that a judge has often to give his decision on
points of natural law, when the positive law fails him,*
and, also, that it would be unlawful for him to ad-
minister any law that was clearly antagonistic to nature.
As regards the awkward effects referred to, we may
make the admission that for judges the existence of a
natural law might often be an embarrassing and a
distressing thing, but we contend also that the natural
law is the one great safeguard of the community at large
against oppressive and evil legislation, and also against
maladministration of even good laws.

These difficulties, then, do not disprove our theory
that some rights are natural.

ON THE RELATION OF RIGHT TO MORALITY

From what precedes it will be plain that we must
regard right as founded on law, and since the laws by
which human acts are directed appertain to the moral
order, it follows that we must regard rights as also
appertaining to the moral order — as a branch of morality
— as dependent on morality.

Against this view some ethicians, such as Kant and

* Some jurists claim that the positive law, since it creates all right,
must necessarily cover all disputed questions in right ; in other words'
that there are no lacuncs in the positive law. This claim, we think is
not borne out by the experience of lawj^ers.
Vol. 1—43

674 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Thomasius, maintain that right does not depend on
morahty, that they have different objects and a different
origin, the one (right) originating in the law of the
State, the other (morals) in the moral law ; the one
appertaining to external action, the other to internal
motive ; that, consequently, there is a well-marked and
an absolute line of cleavage between right and morals.*

The following two arguments will, we believe, make
it evident that right cannot be divorced from morals —
that apart from morals right would have absolutely no
meaning.

First, right, as already stated, depends on natural
law. But, regarded as a rule of human action, the
natural law is the moral law. Therefore, right depends
on moral law.

Secondly, in no sense can I be said to have a right
to keep money except it be understood that other men
are under an obligation not to take it from me. But
obligation belongs to morality. Consequently, right,
if it be independent of moral law, can have no meaning.

The following argument is sometimes brought to show
that right is independent of morality. Right and
morals belong to two totally distinct spheres of human
life.f The one (right) has to do with external action —
the other (morality) has to do with inner motive.
Legality (or right) and morality thus stand apart from,
and are independent of, one another.

Reply. — We cannot admit this distinction of inner
or subjective morality, and outer or objective right. Rights

* A similar, though not quite identical, view of right is taken by
Stahl in his " Philosophy of Right." This philosopher insists that
alxjve right there is a moral order, or what he calls a Gottes Weltordnung,
to which all right should conform. Yet right, he declares, is not
intrinsically dependent on this order, and even when it does not con-
form to the moral order it may still be a valid right. A similar view
to this is criticised by us in our chapter on Law, page ()5i, note.

t Thomasius completely separated the objects of right and morality.
Morals, he said, arc meant to secure inner, rights to sccui-e outer , jjoace.
Kant, however, (at least when treating of right in the abstract), allowed
to morals the control both of the inner and the outer man (see " Mcta-
physic of Morals," Abbot, page 269) ; but to Juridical Science — i.e.,
to the Sci'tucc of Right — he allowed tlic control of outer action only.

ON RIGHTS 675

have not to do merely with the outer act, for, besides
rights that concern the outer act, there are also rights
that concern the inner wih, A father has a right to the
love of his children, just as children are obliged to love
their father. And the love that is due to a father is
something more than mere external reverence. It is
an inner act of the wih. Inner love, therefore, can be
the object of right. Also, men have a right not merely
to freedom from attack on the part of others, but also
to freedom from evil judgment. I can be quite as
unjust to a man by judging him wrongly, or getting
others to judge him wrongly, as I can by stealing money
out of his pocket. Hence, right does not concern outer
acts merely.

Again, outer act cannot be completely separated from
inner motive, for they both make up one complete
human action, and hence, even if right had to do with
the external act only, it would not on that account
be disassociated from morals. Just as an outer act
can be free, but not independently of inner act (since
it is free because it makes one object with inner act),
so even though right referred to outer act, it would
still depend on inner moral law^

We cannot, therefore, admit any such complete
cleavage as that insisted on by the positivists between
inner morality and outer right.

Corollaries. — (i) A right which opposes the moral
law is no right. Some jurists admit that any right
has formal validity which, though opposed in its con-
tent to moral law, has still been conferred by a com-
petent authority. We claim that if rights are essen-
tially dependent on morality, then any right which
opposes morality is null and void, both formally and in
every other way.

(2) Only a moral Being can be the subject of or
possess rights. Animals, therefore, have no rights.
A man may, indeed, have duties about animals, but he

676 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

cannot have duties towards them, for they have no
rights. But of this we shall have to speak more fully
in our second volume.

ERRONEOUS THEORIES OF THE ORIGIN AND NATURE OF
RIGHT

We must now take up for consideration some of the
more important of recent erroneous theories on the
origin of right.

(i) Theory that all rights originate with the State*

The most important, because the most widespread, of
all modern errors on the origin of right is the theory
that all rights originate with the State. It would be
difficult to say how far back this theory dates in the
history of Philosophy, It certainly was taught by
many very ancient philosophers, since it forms part of
the very ancient theory that morality originates with
the State. But many modern philosophers have dis-
cussed this question of the origin of right on its own
account — that is, apart altogether from any question
of the origin of the moral law, and have decided that,
though the 7noral law is independent of State law, a
right originates with the State, and is, therefore, de-
pendent on the will of the ruler.

Criticism. — We admit that the State can confer some
rights, but our present contention is that not all rights
originate with the State.f

(a) It cannot be that all rights originate with the
State, since we have conclusively shown that there are

• Taught by Hobbes, Spinoza, Kant, and others. A very good
account of modem theories of right is to be found in Walter's " Natur-
reclit und Politik."

t The theory that all rights originate with the State by no means
excludes other theories of right, such as the theory that right originates
in contract or in custom. For contract may be State contract and lustom
may be State custom. Most modern lithicians of tlie Historical School
hold the two theories siniuUanoously— that all rigiits derive from the
State and that all rights derive from custom.

ON RIGHTS 677

such things as natural rights. There must be natural
rights because there are natural laws, right being simply
a result of law. Thus, children have a natural right to
support from their parents, and every man has a natural
right to his life, and to the means of supporting it ;
husbands have a natural right to fidelity on the part
of their wives, etc. None of these originate with the
State.

(b) The State cannot be the source of all right for it
cannot be the source of its own right to existence. And,
if it cannot originate its own right to existence, then,
unless its right to existence be from nature, from what
can it be derived ?

(c) Again, if the State has no natural right to its own
existence, it could not create or confer rights on others,
and if it attempted to do so, nobody would be bound
to heed its action.

{d) The individual has rights as against the State.
For instance, the individual has a right to his life, which
the State cannot take away except the individual be
guilty of some crime. But, if there be rights against
the State, the State cannot be the source of all rights.
■ (e) If the State be the source of all rights, then how
could one State have rights as against another State ?
The State can rule its own subject, but it cannot rule
other States, and consequently it could not originate
rights against other States. Yet each State has rights
against other States, which rights must, therefore, be
from nature.*

• (/) If the State originated all rights, it could confer
upon itself a right to do anything that it wished to do,
and, in that case, the State could never do wrong. But
the State can do, and has done, wrong ; therefore, rights

* Hegel contends that all rights originate with the absolute State,
not this or that State ; and many Hegelians would, therefore, answer
the above difficulty by saying that particular States derive their rights
against other particular States from the Absolute or Universal State.
We contend, however, that there is no such thing in existence as a
Universal State, and, if it does exist, it is not known.

678 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

cannot all originate with the State. Hegel, indeed, con-
tends that a true State could not do wrong — that if
WTong is done it is done by a false State — that a State
which does wrong is no more a true State than the hand
that is cut off from the body is a true human hand.
We rejoin — how shall we know, unless we presuppose
rights of 7iature with which to compare the cnacimetiis of
the State, whether the actions of a State be wrong or
right, and, therefore, which is the false and which the
true State ? Unless there be a law of nature by which
to determine the false and the true, all States should
be equally true, and all acts of the State equally just.
But laws of nature involve rights of nature. Therefore,
there are rights that are not from the State.

(g) The argument from consequences we need not
labour. The theory of the " State — the origin of all
Right " has many evil consequences, some for the State
itself, some for the individual. One consequence that
concerns the State itself is that, if this theory be true,
then, the State has no authority from nature to rule or
to confer rights ; and if the State has no natural autho-
rity its ruling need not be respected. A consequence
for the subject is that, if the State be the source of all
right, the individual can have no right against the
State. This latter consequence, we claim, mankind
could never recognise or accept. ^ Hence, it is not true
that all right originates with the State.

(2) Theory that all right is based upon contract.

Practically all that we have wTittcn on the theory of
the " State — the source of Right " applies equally to
the theory defended by Hobbes, Fichte, and many
others, that all right originates in vohmtary contract.
We add, however, one or two arguments which are
proper to the contract theory, and which the reader
can himself further expand and illustrate. Admitting
that some rights are base.d on contract, we claim still

ON RIGHTS 679

that there are some rights that are not based on con-
tract, and that, in fact, no right can be based on con-
tract alo7ie. For, first, if all rights were based on con-
tract there could be no such thing as inalienable rights.
Inalienable rights are rights which we cannot of our
own accord renounce — e.g., the right of a father to
respect from his children, of a child to support, of the
State to maintenance. Were these rights the result of •
voluntary contract the parties who made the contract
could break it by mutual agreement, and so remove
the right. But, since certain rights are inalienable,
this is impossible. A father, for instance, cannot re-
nounce his right to respect, nor a child his right to sup-
port and education. Secondly, 'since there is nothing »
that a man may not contract to do, so there is nothing
to which, if this theory be logically worked out, a man
may not acquire a right. If all right originates in
contract, then by a simple process of common agree-
ment men might acquire a right to the most iniquitous
conduct. But since all admit that some acts could
never become our right, it follows that rights cannot
be all based on contract. Thirdly, the right of the
contracting parties to keep each other to the contract
could not be itself the result of contract, since it is prior
to, and necessary to, the very conception of a contract.
Lastly; we asserted that no right can depend on volun-
tary contract alone. This follows from what is said
above — that all contract of its nature presupposes
certain natural rights of contract.

(3) Theory of the historical school that custom is the
ultimate ground of right.

Note on the Historical School. — This school may be
described as a reaction against the ultra a priori theory of
Kant to be described in the next section. For, Kant had, in
deducing all right from the mere conception of a conflict of
all men's liberties, not taken sufficient account of the State
and of custom, which all must recognise as having a great
deal to do with the creation of existing rights. As a natural

68o THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

reaction against this over-subjectivism in regard to right
came the over-objective theory of ScheUing, Hegel, and the
Historical school, that right originates in ancient customs —
those customs, namely, which have ruled the world from the
baginning, and developed with the world.

Amongst the older defenders and founders of this school
are, as we said, Schelling and Hegel and, also, Savigny and
Puchta. Amongst recent writers, its best known adherents
are Bergbohm and Neukamp. Needless to say, the Historical
School, just as it opposes the theory of the Positivists that
anything is our right which we may wish to make our right,
opposes also the theory of Natural Right- — that is, the theory
that rights are grounded not in custom but in human nature.
Neukamp,* however, calls attention to the fact, that even
within the historical school itself opposition to the theory of
rights of nature was not so strongly marked formerly as it is
now. Thus he declares that some, like Savigny, in spite of
their opposition to natural right, were not able to shake
themselves wholly free from that theory, since, in the first
place, they admitted a certain unchangeable character in
right, and, in the second place, they regarded not custom
itself but the will of the people (the Volksgeist), of which
national custom is only the outward expression, as the
ultimate source of right. This want of thoroughness, Neu-
kamp tells us, is found to characterise all the followers of
Savigny until the most recent times. Neukamp is himself
amongst the most uncompromising defenders of the pure
historical theory of right, for he will admit nothing into his
theory that might even remotely be connected with the
conception of a natural or an unchangeable system of rights,
or of rights which depend on any a priori ground. " We
cannot," he writes, " come by the principles of rights by pure
speculation or logical reasoning. . . . We can only arrive at
an answer to questions on rights by empirical examination
of the positive rights of each people and each age."

The more metaphysical form of this theory— that, namely,
which is grounded in the conception of a race-consciousness,
or Volksgeist — is thus described by Prof. Cathrcin in his
" Moralphilosophie " — " Right is an unconscious product of
the spirit of the People. It dwells in the common thought of
tiic people. It resides there, not as an abstract rule, but as
a living intuition, wliich in practical life is transformed into
the institutions known as riglits. Just as speech, public
manners, and art arise unconsciously with the people, and

♦ " Einlcitun{^' in cine Entwicklun^s^cschichtc dcg Rechts," pige 28,

ON RIGHTS 68i

then gradually develop, so is it also with right. Of this
gradual upward process through which rights are formed,
the highest aim and purpose is the formation of the State.
The State is not prior to right— \t is only a step in the develop-
ment of right. Originally and essentially all right is grounded
on custom— the customs of the race. The function of the
State is not so much the creation of right as the formation of
it in accordance with the degree of development reached.
The conscious activity of the State (legal right) is, in this
matter, subordinated to the unconscious activity of. the Will
of the people " (which reveals itself in national customs).

Criticism. — ^The central point in this theory, and the
point which we now proceed to criticise, is that all
rights originate in the customs of the people.

[a] It must be granted that some rights originate in
custom, for some laws originate in custom (as we
showed in the last chapter), and right is the result of
law. But we also pointed out that when custom
originates a law, it does so, not as custom, not as mere
practice, but only in so far as custom is an expression
of the will of the lawgiver. Hence, laws of custom
originate like other laws in the will of the lawgiver.
If the will of the lawgiver be not presupposed, custom
would have no power to originate a law. And, as all
right originates in law, so rights which come from
custom are always grounded on something deeper than
mere custom — namely, on the will of the lawgiver, of
which custom is merely the outward expression. We
cannot, therefore, sustain the theory that all rights
originate in custom.

This argument, as will be seen from what precedes,
some defenders of the historical school would meet by
asserting that the customs of the people in which rights
are grounded are not to be regarded as a set of mere
practices, but rather as the expression in act of the will
of the people; and, consequentl}', when it is asserted
that rights are grounded on custom, what is meant is
that they are grounded on the will of the people, of
which custom is the expression.

682 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

To this we rejoin. — Either the will of the people, of
which the historical school makes mention, is to be
regarded as a universal will distinct from individuals,
or it is simply the sum of the individual wills. Now,
the theory of a distinct racial will is a mere hypothesis,
which, in the first place, could never be verified (and,
therefore, we could only regard rights that are grounded
on it as imaginary and unreal), and, in the second place,
is impossible, as can be proved in Metaphysics (and,
therefore, rights grounded on it are an impossibility).
On the other hand, if the racial will of which our op-
ponents speak is merely the sum of individual wills in
prehistoric times, then, since our present-day wills are
quite as authoritative as those of our predecessors, it
would follow from this theory that mankind could
to-day cancel every existing right just as mankind
created them. But this we cannot allow. There are
some rights that cannot be abrogated. However,
whether the racial will is to be regarded as distinct or
as the sum merely of individual wills, it is quite wrong
to speak of a theory that grounds right on an expression
of will as an historical theory of rights. An historical
theory of rights is a theory which grounds rights
ultimately on outward custom or practice, and not on the
autJwrity of a legislator. The theory which grounds
rights on the will of the legislator, even though the
people were themselves the legislators, is a distinct
theory from the present, and it has already been criti-
cised by us in the present chapter.*

(b) There have been bad customs and good customs,
just customs and unjust customs. Hence, custom re-
garded in itself is neither reasonable nor unreasonable,
just nor unjust. But, right being the principle of
Justice, that in which all rights originate must be
essentially just. Hence, rights cannot originate ulti-
mately in custom.

• Sec Theory that all rights originate with the State.

ON RIGHTS 683

department of nature is law grounded on mere practice
or customary action. A stone does not fall to the earth
simply because it fell in former ages. A plant does not
grow to-day because plants grew yesterday. So, if there
is any analogy between the various parts of nature,
it would follow that human laws cannot be based
merely on the fact that men in former times uniformly
did certain actions. Rather both former actions and
present law are based upon necessities of nature, just
as the falling of the stone in former times and its falling
to-day are based upon the same necessity of nature —
namely, the force of gravitation. Hence, law does not
originate in custom, and rights, therefore, which are
grounded on law cannot be based on mere past customs.
{(i) Mankind is superior to his own outward practices,
as the cause is superior to the effect. Hence, mankind
cannot be bound by, or subject to, its own outward
practices. But if all rights originated with human
customs or practices, the customs of the race must have
had power to make laws for the race, and hence they
must be superior to the race — which is absurd.

(4) The " Mechanical " theory of Right.

According to Kant the individual person is absolutely
free. But freedom is two-fold — freedom from inner com-
pulsion and freedom from outer compulsion, or from the
compulsion of our outer acts by other men. Now, in
Kant's theory, right is regarded as nothing more than
freedom in the second sense — that is, freedom from
outer compulsion. And since, according to Kant, all
men have equal rights, in the sense of equal freedom
from outer compulsion, he defines right as " the con-
ception of the conditions under which the wishes of one
man can be reconciled with the wishes of every other
man according to a general law of freedom." Every
man, according to Kant, is a person — that is, he is free.
Now, a. person, like every other living thing, has need

684 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to exercise his faculties in the external world. Hence,
each man has a right to external freedom — that is, a
right to use the external world without interference
from others. But since the world of material goods is
limited, there is only one way of reconciling the powers
of different men with one another — that is, by each man
using just so much of the world as is consonant with the
equal freedom of every other man — in other words, by all
having originally equal shares in the goods of the world.
This system of the equal division of the field of external
liberty is, according to Kant, the system of rights.

Criticism. — In Kant's theory we find several un-
justifiable assumptions.* For instance, {a) that rights
appertain to external goods only ; (6) that all rights
can be deduced from the conception of a conflict be-
tween the liberties of each man and those of the rest
of humanity ; (c) that the goods of the world are a
definite quantity, that they are not 7nade by individuals,
but are supplied ready-made by nature, f so that all
men have an equal claim to them ; {d) that men have a
right to any line of action which does not injure others
or limit their liberty.

These assumptions we can consider only very briefly.

[a] Not all rights are rights to material things. A
man has a right to his good name, and a father has a
right to the respect of his children. But neither of
these is a material good.

(6) If, in determining rights, it is asserted that we
must begin with the conception of the reconciliation of
all men's liberties, then it is assumed that every right
is deducible from this conception of the freedom of all
men. Now, this assumption we cannot allow. For,
first, there are rights which are deduced from the con-
ception either of the work we do, or of some natural
relation depending on some personal act of ours — for

* If thcsi! things are not assumed Kant's theory is meaningless.
\ It is obvious that Kant does not give expression to this assump
lion. But apart from it we cannot understand his theory.

ON RIGHTS 685

instance, the right of a man to the table he makes, the
right of a parent to the love of his child. These rights
could not be deduced from the conception of freedom,
much less from the conception of the equal freedom of
all. Secondly, there are such things as inalienable
rights — for. instance, the right of a child to support —
which it would be difficult to deduce from the concep-
tion of a conflict of liberties. If right and freedom be
one, as Kant supposes, then surely there is no right
that we may not freely surrender. Liberty in right
means the freely retaining or freely surrendering of that
to which we have the right. But there are rights that
we cannot surrender, and, therefore, there must be
something in right other than the conception of mere
liberty. Thirdly, men have rights to coerce other men
in certain cases — for instance, the right to restrain a
man forcibly from committing suicide. Such a right
as that could not be deduced from the conception of
other men's liberties. Fourthly, the only kind of right
which Kant considers is the right to non-interference
from others, which is merely negative right. But men
have positive rights as well as negative — for instance,
the right of the State to support, and of starving men to
obtain food. Therefore, there are Rights that cannot
be deduced from the conceptions of liberty.

(c) It seems to us that, in defining right as the sum of
the conditions under which all men can exercise their
liberty, Kant supposes that the goods of the world are
fixed in amount, that they are not to a large extent made
by certain individuals, that Nature supplies us with
everything. On no other understanding could he defend
the view that all men have equal rights to external
liberty in regard to the goods of the world. But the
world of goods is not fixed in amount — it is built up to
a large extent by individuals. Were it not for human
endeavour much of what is most valuable on the earth
would not exist. We must, then, in considering our
rights to the goods of the world, remember that man

686 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

to a large extent produces these goods. But surely it
cannot be that in determ.ining a man's rights to these
things which he himself produces, we must start by
allowing for the liberties of other people with regard to
them. On the contrary, it is both natural and just that
ill estimating a man's right in regard to things produced
by him, we should base our calculation on the fact that he
produced them, and then, having made full allowance
for that fact, we might proceed to take account of the
claims of other people, and of all opposing liberties.
The starting point, therefore, in the determination of
any individual's rights is not necessarily that of the
" general law of freedom," as Kant's theory supposes.

[d) We have seen already that besides inviolability
there is always in right the element of lawfulness, or
Frlaublheit — that is, a man has a right to do only that
which is lawful for him to do. I can have no right to
that which is unlawful or immoral. Even, therefore,'
before we start to determine what liberty remains to
each man after the conflict of all men's liberties is
allowed for, we must recognise that there are certain
actions, certain liberties, which are absolutely forbidden
to us from the beginning as wrong in themselves, and
independently of the liberties or wishes of others. To
these we are antecedently debarred from ever acquiring
a right. Thus, a man could not possibly acquire a right
of sweating falsely, of hating God, of hating his fellow-
men, a right to private sins of immorality, or to take
away his own life. . He could not acquire a right to
these things even if all men agreed to give him the
right. Hence, right cannot be in all cases the resultant
of conflicting liberties, for there are some objects to
which we can never acquire a right. The principle,
then, of the conflict of human liberties can never be
the principle on which we base right in general, and,
therefore, it is not the starting point in our calculus of
rights. It is just one amongst the mcuiy factors of the
calculus.

APPENDIX TO VOL. I

Kant's Criterion of Goodness. — The Categorical
Imperative

An act, according to Kant, if it is to be morally good, must
be done for the sake of law. Now, not every act can be
done for the sake of law, and therefore it is of the utmost
importance that we should know what acts can be brought
under this motive and what can not. An act, according to
Kant, can be brought under this motive when it is possible
for us, without contradicting ourselves, to will that such an
act should become a law for all men. It cannot be brought
under this motive and so cannot be morally good when to
will it 'to become a law for all is self-contradictory and im-
possy^^^The law — act so that the maxim of thy will may
be <^^^^ of becoming a universal law for all men — is
knot^BlFthe Categorical Imperative. Now, the impossi-
bility of willing that a certain line of action should become
a universal law may arise from either of two reasons — either
because we cannot even conceive its being a universal law,
the very notion of such an act becoming a law being incon-
sistent with itself ; or because, whilst the conception of such
a law is possible, still the willing of it is impossible, inasmuch
as the willing of such a law conflicts with some other per-
manent appetite or wish within us. Examples of the first
class of acts are suicide and false promises. Of a law of
suicide Kant says — " A system of nature of which it should
be a law to destroy life by means of the very feeling whose
special nature it is to impel to the improvement of life "
(that is, the will, desiring its own good, which object is, on
Kant's own confession, present in every act of will) " would
contradict itself, and therefore could not possibly exist as a
universal law of nature." Examples of the second class of
acts are idleness and want of kindness. Of the impossibility
of willing idleness as a universal law he says : " As a rational
being he (man) necessarily wills that his faculties be developed
since they serve him and have been given him for all sorts of
possible purposes." These kinds of acts, therefore, are bad.
Criticism. — The reader should refer to our chapter on the
Criterion of Morals in order to see how far Kant's criterion

687

688 THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

could possibly be brought into harmony with ours. We
shall just call his attention here to one or two points that
may*be of use to him in making contrast of the two theories
— (a) It is quite possible to wish that all men should commit
suicide or make deceitful promises. The wish for these
things is not self-contradictory. We acknowledge, however,
that in both these acts there is a contradiction which is not
without its ethical significance, for both acts contradict the
natural objects of the faculty employed, as we pointed out
concerning suicide and lying in our chapter on the Criterion.
In a sense, therefore, unnatural or bad acts are self-contra-
dictory ; and from the examples cited we may judge how
close Kant was to the Scholastic system in some parts of his
theory, (b) There are many morally good acts that, yet,
could not possibly become a law for all. A healthy man
has duties that could not bind a sick man. Our duties
depend often on circumstances of person, time, and place.
For these Kant makes no allowance, (c) Some courses that
are morally good and lawful are good only as long as they
do not become a universal law. It is lawful, for instance,
for a man to remain a bachelor. But all could not do so.

Thus, the Categorical Imperative — act so that the maxim
of thy will may be capable of becoming a universal law — is
not the ultimate criterion of good and evil in human conduct.

An interesting discussion on Kant's criterion is given in
Prof. Rashdall's " Theory of Good and Evil " and in Prof.
Simmel's " Kant — Sechzehn Vorlesungen."

INDEX

Absolute, 3.

Act, acts, not states, the subject

matter of Ethics, 3 ; human

acts, 28-45.
Adjustment to environment. See

Environment.
Aesthetic Morals, 525.
^•Altruism, see Benevolence.
Anthropocentrism, 167.
Appetite, good as object of, 89 ;

existence of natural app., 104-

113 ; App. and law, 113, 643.
♦ AssociATiONiST theory of duty,

240 ; of moral judgments, 427.
Autonomy of reason, 652 ; of

will, 657.

Beauty and goodness compared,

520, 525-
Being and goodness, 89-95.
Benevolence, impulse of, 331-

339.

^ Categorical character of duty,
219; cat. imperative of Kant.
See appendix to Vol I.

Circumstances, morality of, 99.

Character, place in Ethics, 3.

Conduct, as subject-matter of
Ethics, 3.

Conscience, nature of, 472-475 ;
erroneous theories on, 475-504 ;
as God's voice, 497 ; can it de-
velop and decay, 547 ; con-
science of child, see synderests.
See also Judgments fmoral).

Consequences, morality of, 36 ;
of morality, 573.

Criteria of morality, meaning,
124 ; division of, 125 ; need of,
126 ; primary, 127-139 ; second-
ary, 140-157 ; general remarks
on, 157.

Culture, not our final end, 68.

Custom, and moral distinctions,

US-
Determinants of morality, 97.
. Determinism. See freedom.
Drunkenness, 139.
Duty, freedom and, 198 ; mean-
ing of, 211 ; proof of, 214 ;
absolute character of, 219 ; duty
dependent on. God, 212, 229;
erroneous theories of, 230-254 ;
Kant's deduction of liberty
from, 254.
•Duty for duty's sake. See
Formalism.

Elicited and commanded acts,

28.
Elpistic theory, 85.

•^ND, in general, 46 ; all that is
desired is directed to final end,
49 ; cannot be many ultimate
ends, 51 ; ultimate end same
for all men, 52 ; objective final
end, 54 ; can objective final
end be determined, 54 ; the
things that do not constitute
final obj. end, 56; objective
end an external thing, 58-66 ;
the true obj. end, 69 ; final obj.
end a reality, 71 and 85 ; sub-
jective final end, 79-85.

^Environment, adjustment to, as

end, 69 ; as criterion, 414.
Ethics, definition and scope of,
1-7 ; relation to other sciences,
7; method of, 14-21; possi-
bility of as a science, 21-27.

^Evolution, and end of man, 63 ;
evol. theory of duty, 240 ; Bio-
logical, 372-424 ; Psychological
425-441 ; Transcendental, 442-

471-
Extrinsic morality, 120.

Vol. I — 44

689

690

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Faculty, moial. See Conscience.
Fear, 44.

Feelings, moral, as criteria, 155 ;
moral faculty, a group of, 480.
•^ Formalism (Kantian), 256-274.

vX-FoRTITUDE, 618.

Freedom, relation to human act,
31 ; nature of, 175-181 ; ground
of, 181-184 ; extent of, 185 ;
freedom and conservation of
energy, 187 ; Kant on meaning
of, 190 ; Hegel on meaning of,
192 ; and morality, 196-210. ,

Friendsi^ip. See Benevolence.

Fulness of Being, and goodness.
See Being.

•^ God, the end of man, 69-79 ; God
the ground of duty, 229 ; proof
of God's existence from Ethics,
73 and 501 ; theory of con-
science the voice of God, 497.

• Goodness, meaning of, 89-97 5

identical with Being, 89-95 5
determinants of, 97 ; natural
distinction from evil, 104 ;
theory that goodness implies
struggle, 581.

^Habits, 593,

\Happiness, distinguished from
pleasure, 53 ; our subjective
final end, 79 ; perfect happiness
attainable, 85 ; relation to vir-
tue, see Virtue.
Health, as criterion, 417.

♦ Hedonism, 58 ; statement of

theory, 275 ; disproved, 279-
288 ; arguments of, examined,
289-302 ; Psychological, 289 ;
Ethical, 299 ; criterion of, 302 ;
empirical and scientific, 306 ;
paradox of, 291 ; usteron pro-
teron of, 297 ; and Utilitarian-
ism, 339 and 369.

Historical method, 17; school
of Rights, 679.

Holiness, not our final end, 66.

Human acts, meaning of, 3-4 ;
division of, 28 ; principles of
and their opposites, 31.

«/Ignorance, 40 ; and freedom,
186; ignorance an clement in
evil-doing, 224,

Imitation, as formative of mind

364.
Immanent Heteronomy, 658.
Impulses (moral) theory of, 530.
oImputability, 574 ; freedom and,

201.
Independent morality, 122.
Indifferent acts, 100-104.
Individual acts, morality of, and

Simmel on, 170.
Infinite Good, our final objective

end, 69-97.
Intention, 33 ; various kinds of,

34-
^ Intuitionist method, 15 ; theory

of duty, 234 ; theory of moral

judgments, how far true, 307 ;

Perceptional Intuitionism, 516 ;

Common Sense Int., 522.

Judgments, moral, nature of,
472 ; some self-evident, 507 ;
origin of in child's mind, 539 ;
origin of according to positivists,
427 ; differences in, explained
by St. Thomas, 513 ; by Fichte,
493 ; by Hegel, 494 ; by
Martineau, 431 ; by Elsenhans,

^ 571.

'Justice, 621.
Jus gentium, 648.

Knowledge, relation to human
act, 33 and 37 ; not our final
end, 67 ; Can we do evil
knowingly ? 224.

^Law, and fact in Ethics, 5;
appetite and, 113; conception
of, 633 ; eternal, 639 ; natural,
643 ; human, 650 ; theory of
autonomy, 652.

Lie, 134.

Life, as end of man, Spencer's
theory, 411.

Logic, relation to Ethics, 9.

Mean, golden, as criterion, 159 ;

virtue a mean, 606.
Merit, 574.
Method of Ethics, 14.
^loDERNisTS, 73.
Moral beliefs. See Judgments.
Moral Sense, 486.
Moral Theology, relation to
Ethics, 13.

INDEX

601

Natural, distinctions of good and
evil, 104-113; objections to
theory of natural morals, 160-
174; 'natural selection' ap-
plied to moral ideas, 434 ; same
applied to Law, 63"-,; natural
la-.v and its ground, 643.

Nature does not act in vain, 72.

Nirvana, 83, 151.

Normative Science, Ethics a, 5,
10.

Obligation. See Duty.
Optimism Ethical, 148..
Origin of moral judgments. See

Judgments.
Ought and is, 5, 10, 26.

Romanticists, 171.

« Passion, relation to voluntariness
42.

Pity, analysed, 337.
•^Pleasure, and happiness, 53 ;
pleasure not our final end, 57.
see also Hedonism ; Kant's atti-
tude towards pleasure, see
Formalism ; qualitative dis-
tinctions in, 311; pleasure
associations as ground of moral
judgments, 427.

Political Philosophy and Ethics,
10.

PosiTivisT theories of good and
evil, 114-120 ; theory of duty,
240; origin of moral judgments,
427 ; view of moral beliefs of
savages, 551.

Pragmatist view of freedom, 255 •
defence of Utilitarianism, '353.'

Principles, primary and second-
ary, 23 ; are they self-evident,
^ 507.
\Probabilism, 504.

Prudence, 598.

Psychology and Ethics, 8.

Punishment, freedom and retri-
butive punishment, 202 ; kinds
of, 584-592.

Reason, its relation to conduct,
2, 9 ; the moral faculty, 472 ;
right reason as criterion, 174.

Rectitude, 573.
^Rights, notion, division, and pro-
perties of, 660 ; existence of
natural, 669 ; Rights and
Morality, 673 ; erroneous views
on, 676.

Sanction. See punishment.

Savages, moral beliefs of, 21
551-568.

Selection, natural. See natural.

Self-determination, 178, igi.

Self-evident truths. See Judg-
ments.

Self-realisation, not our end,
63 ; Transcendental-evolution-
ist view of, 442 ; scholastic view
of, 461.

Society, our duty towards, 319,
356 ; relation of society to indi-
vidual, 356-364 ; happiness of
Society not our end, see fJtiii-
tarianism.

Solidarity, theory of, 356-365.

Struggle and goodness, 581-584.

Suicide, 134.

Survival, theory of, applied to
moral judgments, 434 ; ' Sur-
vival of fittest ' and our duty
to others, 418.
I?ynderesis, 537-572.

Temperance, 616.

Transcendentalists, on free-
dom, 192 ; Transc. Evolution,
442-471.

^ UTiLitARiANiSM, Criterion of com-
pared with Scholastic criterion,
147; definition of, 318; how
far true, 319 ; disproof of, 32 r-
330 ; arguments for 330 and
foil. ; and Hedonism, 339, 369.

Values, theory of, 367.

Violence, 42.

Virtue not our end, 66 ; relation
to happiness, 148 ; virtues aid
vices in general, 595 ; moral
virtues, 604 ; cardinal virtu fs,
613.

Vitality, relation to pleasure
308.

Voluntariness, relation to
•human act, 33 ; kinds of, 34 ;
indirect, 36.

Will. See Voluntariness ; Free-
dom of; 1 75-1 8 1 ; will-auto-
nomy, theory of, 657.

LIST OF AUTHORS REFERRED TO
IN THIS WORK

Antisthenes, 277.

Aquinas (St. Thomas), on scope
of Ethics, 1-4 ; Eth. and Psy-
chology, 8 ; Eth. and Pol.
Philosophy, 11 ; on passion and
voluntariness, 42 ; the ends of
human action, 47-88 passim ;
good and evil, 80-100 passim ;
indifferent acts, 100 ; appetites,
104-113 ; criterion. 133 ; moral-
ity and individual act, 172 ;
freedom, 178 ; obligation, 214 ;
relation of liberty to duty, 224 ;
arguments against Hedonism,
280 and foil.; Ethical Hedon-
ism, 301 ; the Utilitarian prin-
ciple, 320 ; benevolent im-
pulses, 333 ; life as final end,
423 ; self-realisation, 463 ; self-
evident moral truths, 506-512 ;
beauty and goodness, 528 ; pun-
ishment, 586 ; the moral virtues
610 ; justice, 621 ; the eternal
law, 639 ; the natural law, 643 ;
jus gentium, 648.

Aristippus, 276, 277.

Aristotle, object of Ethics, 8 ;
certitude in morals, 23 ; Ethics
a telcological science, 46 ; nature
does not act in vain, 72 ; man's
final end, 53, 70 ; definition of
good, 90 ; knowledge and evil-
doing, 224 ; pleasure and happi-
ness, 275 ; definition of virtue,
597, 608 ; otherwise referred to,

34, 4<J> 148, 150, 154, 157, 460,

580, 587, 599, 602.
Augustine (St.), 79, 148.
AvEBURY (Lord), 550-567 passim.

Bain, 241, 33S, 350, 515.

Baldwin, 364.

Balfour (A.), 25 157.

Beneke, 238.

Bentham, 29, 279, 319, 33S, 588.

Bergbohm, 680.

Bergson, 407.

Blackstone, 650.

Bradley, 62, 66, 89, 444, 452,

458, 475, 587-
Branco, 404.
Brentano, 368.

liROWN, 15, 480, 487.

Browning, 70, 94.
ISUNGE, 399.
Burlamaqui, 480.

BUSSEL, 24, 25, 27.

Butler, theory of punishment,
203 ; our knowledge of duty,
235 ; Hedonism, 277 ; self-love
and conscience, 278 ; Hed.
paradox, 292 ; conscience, 476,
498 ; otherwise referred to, 371,
479, 4S0, 588.

Cairo (E.), 498.

Cairnes, 422.

Cajetan, 71.

Calderwood, 180, 208.

Carneades, 115.

Carneri, 357.

Casalis, 563.

Cathrein, 553, 680.

Clarke, 15.

Clifford, 491.

Comte, 319.

Cousin, 538.

CuDwoRTH, 15, 278, 476.

Cumberland, 157, 278, 319, 515.

Damascene (St. John), 537.
Darwin, 241, 399, 403.

693

694

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

De Lage, 406.
Denziger, 121.
Dewey, 500.
Driesch, 400.
Du Bois Reymond, 397.

Ehrenfels, 367.
Elsenhans, 494, 553, 571-
Epicurus, 278.
Espenberger, 58.

Fairbrother, 173.

FiCHTE, on consciousness of duty,
235 ; proof of Formalism, 272 ;
system of Ethics, 468 ; differ-
ences of men's moral judgments,
493 ; otherwise referred to, 19,
319, 443, 475, 480, 538, 571, 605.

Flugel, 553, 568.

FouiLLEE, 224, 239, 336, 356, 364,
424, 533, 678.

GizYCKi, 66, 350, 371.

Goethe, 177.

Grant, (Sir A.) 55, 225.

Green, 55, 265, 293, 318, 445,

461, 466.
Grote (John), 18.
Grotius, 538.
Guyau, 92, 235, 239, 247-252, 357.

Halleux, 407.

Hamilton, 180.

Harms, 122.

Hartmann (Ed. von), 60, 118,
272, 282, 658.

Hegel, on freedom, 192 ; proof
of Formalism, 272 ; system of
Ethics, 445-461 ; on conscience,
491 ; on differences of men's
moral judgments, 494 ; on the
formal validity of laws, 651 ;
on coactivc power of Right, 663;
origin of Right, 677 ; otherwise
referred to, 19, 29, 443.

Herbart, 238, 446, 517, 525.

Hertwig, 400.

Hobbes, theory of good and evil,
114; Hedonism, 276; fust
principles, 538 ; origin of Right,
O76 ; otherwise referred to, O78.

Hume, on subject-matter of
Ethics, 3 ; paradox of Formal-
ism, 2()5 ; selfishness, 279 ;
moral faculty, 475 and foil.;
rights of justice, 630.

Hutcheson, self-love, 279 ; moral
faculty, 475, 487 ; intuitionism,
517; Aesthetic Morals, 527;
otherwise referred to, 16.

Huxley, 398, 399, 4x9.

Iiiering, 663.

James, 255.

JoDL, 446, 503, 517, 526.

Jouffroy, 475.

Kant, nature of freedom, 190,
204 ; freedom and morality,
201; the consciousness of duty,
235 ; deduction of liberty from
morality, 254 ; formalism, 256
and foil. ; definition of beauty,
528 ; merit, 588, 590 ; auton-
omy of Reason, 652 ; perfect
and imperfect duties, 668 ;
rights and morality, 673 ; origin
of Right, 676 and foil.; cate-
gorical imperative, see ' auton-
omy of Reason, and appendix to
present Vol.; otherwise men-
tioned, 2, II, 46, 66, 67, 72, 85,
157, 171, 224, 538.

KiTTEL, 571.

Krause, 503.

Laas, 493.

Lamenais (de), 153, 157.

Lantsheere (de), 23.

Leibnitz, 538.

Lessius, 121.

Levy-Bruhl, 56, 115, 166, 353,

424, 481, 549.
Lewes, 404.
Le Roy, 556.
Lipps, 231, 538, 657.

LiTTRfe, 387.

Livingstone, 553.
Locke, 204, 278, 371, 517.
Lombard (Peter), 58.

McCosH, 516.
Macintosh, 338.
Mackenzie, 29.
Maher, 43, 181, 187, 479.
Mali.ock, 54.
Man, 554.
Mandevili-e, 238.
Mansell, 516.

LIST OF AUTHORS

695

Martineau, on pity, 338 ; evolu-
tionist Ethics, 406 ; intuition-
ism, 517, 519 ; aesthetic Ethics,
525 ; his system, 533 ; merit,
578 ; otherwise referred to, 157.

McDonald. See preface.

Meinong, 367.

Meyer, 77, 234.

Mill (James), 358.

Mill (J. S.), origin of idea of duty,
241 ; Hedonism, 276 ; pleasure
man's end, 289 ; qualitative
distinctions of pleasure, 311;
argument foi Utilitarianism,
340; Hed. and Util., 370;
origin of moral judgments, 424 ;
conscience, 480 ; otherwise re-
ferred to, 29, 157, 538, 629.

Milton, 583.

MivART, 403.

More (Sir T.), 19, 475.

MuiRHEAD, 294.

MULLER, 404.

Neukamp, 670 and foil.
Newman, 502.
Nietzsche, 117,

Occam, 120.

Paley, 279, 371, 515.
Paulsen, 81, 119, 228, 242.
Plato, 19, 277.
Prescott, 553, 557.
Puchta, 680.

PUFFENDORF, I2C, 538,

Quatrefages (do), 399.

Rashdall, differences between
crime and disease, 206 ; Psy-
chological Hed., 291, 295, 297 ;
the hedonistic usteron-proteron,
297 ; Util., 341 ; intuitionis-m,
515, 523 ; otherwise referred to,
370, 587, appendix to Vol I.

Ratzel, 553, 560 passim.

Rauber, 365, 569, 570.

R6e, 238, 549, 553.

Reid, 15, 180, 279, 475, 487, 515,

517-
Renouvier, 239.

RiCKABY (Joseph), 222, 463.
ROBINET, 487.

Rousseau, 114, 216.
ROYCE, 364, 424, 481, 580.

Salmond, 649.
Savigny, 672, 680.
schelling, 235, 463, 680
schiffini, 222, 649.
Schiller, 195, 198, 525.
Schleiermacher, 171, 497.
Schopenhauer, 3, 70, 81, 151,

338, 446.

ScoTUS, 100.

Secretan, 239.

Seth, 299, 313, 371, 462, 515.

Shaftesbury, selfish impulses,
278, 319, 331 ; Hed. and Util.,
371 ; aesthetic morals, 527 ;
merit and virtue, 578 ; other-
wise referred to, 15, 157.

SiDGWicK, on natural morals, 1 58 ;
obligation, 228 ; Psych. Hedon-
ism, 295 ; Eth. Hed., 300 ;
Utilitar., 324 ; Benevolence,
334 ; Hed. and Util., 341 ;
origin and validity, 440 ; Intui-
tionism, 515, 523 ; punishment,
589 ; justice, 630 ; otherwise
referred to, 15, 311.

Sigwart, 18.

Simmel, 52, 81, 82, 151, 171, 223,
241, 580, appendix to Vol I.

Smith (Adam), 157.

Socrates, 224.

Sorley, 5, 6, 436, 440, 458.

Spencer, altraism and pleasure,
152 ; duty, 240, 241 ; hedon-
istic paradox, 293 ; scientific
hedonism, 308 ; Benevolence,
371 ; geneial account of his
theory, 373 ; origin of moral
judgments, 424 ; otherwsie re-
ferred to, 57, 120, 404, 538, 629.

Spencer and Gillen, 554.

Spinoza, 466, 676.

Stahl, 651.

Stephen (Leslie), on final end, 52 ;
originality of the appetites, 76 ;
happiness and virtue, 152 ;
punishment, 203 ; benevolence,
336 ; individual and society,
357 ; general account of his
theory, 383 ; conscience, 480,
491 ; merit, 578 ; otherwise re-
ferred to, 165, 414, 538, 580, 636.

Stirner, 276.

SuAREZ, 121, 649.

Taparelli, 222.

Taylor (A. E.), 59, 242, 414, 457,
491.

696

THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS

Thomasius, 538, 663,
Tolstoi, 151.
Trendelenburg, 357.
Tylor, 552.
Tyndall, 398, 399.

ViRCHOW, 398, 399.

Waitz, 554, 566.
Wake, 553.
Warburton, 480.

Ward (W. G.), 122.

Wallace, 403.

Walter, 676.

Wasmann, 399, 400, 406.

Wells (H. G.), 211.

Westermarck, 553, 566.

Whewell, 266, 272, 613.

Wilson, 400.

Wissmann, 554.

WuNDT, 22, 179, 180, 241, 538.

ZiGLIARA, 77, 128.

END OF VOLUME I.

Af. U. Gill and Son, Ltd., Printers, Dublin,

\ f

ra I « I ^ I ) ^

niMr 'S'j tyclo

B^WDfNG,i-iST Jinv 1 join

EJ Cronin, Michael

1011 The science of ethics

r2d ed., rev and -en^.-,

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cop. 4.

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